Catfish
by QueenyMidas
Summary: After having gone to high school together and parted bitter rivals, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter find themselves reunited under professional circumstances. They're hired to host MTV's hit show 'Catfish' together to track down answers about individual online romances. Along with their cases, they become invested in each other along the way. American muggle AU.
1. Chapter 1: Intro

**Title:** Catfish

**Summary: **After having gone to high school together and parted bitter rivals, Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter find themselves reunited under professional circumstances. They're hired to host MTV's hit show 'Catfish', a program dedicated to finding out the truth about online romances when one partner is desperate to meet offline and the other has avoided every attempt at real-life interaction. Fake profiles, lies, and surprising love stories run amuck with Draco as the classic skeptic and Harry as the hopeful believer when they travel the country for the show and become invested in their cases and in each other. American muggle AU.

**AN:** Dedicated to the perfect, the lovely, Isabel and Kathleen. You guys are the best. After watching countless episodes of Catfish together, we've come to the only sane conclusion: Max and Nev are perfect parallels to Draco and Harry in that Nev is the one who comforts catfish victims and Max is the one who curses out the actual catfish. I really recommend readers watch the show but it's so not necessary for this. I know it sounds silly (people rag on MTV a lot but if you honestly watch the shows with an open mind they're both entertaining and heartfelt), but please bear with me here.

Catfish [kat-fish] Verb: To pretend to be someone you're not online by posting false information, such as someone else's pictures, on social media sites usually with the intention of getting someone to fall in love with you.

Harry's guarded enthusiasm was growing faster than he had expected. He had the contract in front of him, only really heard half of what the job was about, and was more than tempted to sign his name along the dotted line.

From the second Harry walked into the hotel where their first meeting took place he was sort of blown away. The rooms there were much more than he could afford.

Still, the job wasn't his until he signed the release forms, and he was wary of these show-business-type moguls and what they may or may not have had up their sleeves.

Harry certainly didn't grow up wanting to be on television, it just sort of happened to him as a kid when he survived a car crash that killed his mother and father, leaving only a scar on Harry's forehead.

When he saw the want-ad for what was described online as an 'Internet MTV project', he hadn't expected it would have much to do with television either. His aunt and uncle were always accusing him of chasing the spotlight.

If they were in the hotel conference room with Harry they would have accused him of making the leap into reality television because he was obsessed with the attention. Harry thought that to be almost the farthest thing from the truth—who cared who was watching? Harry was in this for the experience—but when did they ever listen to Harry?

Harry would then argue that the spotlight was often thrust upon him (a prime example was him being one of the few out gay kids in his small town off of New Hope, Pennsylvania, which his aunt and uncle liked to use to accuse him of 'shoving his alternative lifestyle down everyone's throats' simply by existing) but that argument went on for hours and took so many twists and turns that it made Harry's head spin.

He tried to focus on the task at hand.

The lawyers began to drone on to Harry through the pay, health benefits, and working conditions of being an employee of Music Television (even though it no longer played much music).

"Any injuries sustained while investigating catfish will be paid in full by MTV, should a catfish attack you, we have everything covered and offer our company lawyers to sue for damages…"

Harry hadn't even considered that sort of danger. He was messing with people's personal lives on television—admittedly to share their experience and with the intention of helping them—but it just struck him in that moment that some of them wouldn't take it so well.

Harry could handle a little danger, though. This was finally what he wanted. This was different.

Harry was going to share stories with the world and get answers for people who desperately needed them. It was not only a noble cause in his humble opinion, but an adventure with intrigue at every new twist and turn.

The only constant would be his co-host, considering every Catfish story was in a different state or even a different time-zone that required constant travel. Harry and his partner would trek across the country helping hopeless romantics meet their online sweethearts, sleeping on airplanes and in hotel rooms until their season was done. It was twelve cases to a season, so that meant twenty-four lives they could change forever thanks to them.

Hopefully, there would be more than one season of the show as well.

As the extra camerapeople and producers signed agreement after agreement around the table in the conference room, Harry wished his co-host would hurry the hell up. He'd gathered that his co-host's plan ride had been a rough one from the whisperings of some interns when he walked in, but that was no excuse to leave Harry high and dry. All of these higher-ups in silk blouses and ties made Harry uneasy.

The hosts had been instructed to wear street clothes at all times, so Harry and whatever other lucky bloke he was doing this with would be constantly underdressed.

"He's here," piped up the assistant of some suit. "Just got a text."

"Good," Kingsley replied gruffly. Kingsley Shacklebolt was the tall, imposing black man that Harry was going to be taking orders from about the direction of the show for the next few months. Harry actually really liked him.

Kingsley wasn't the sort Harry expected to work at a 'hip' or 'young' network—Harry just then caught him pressing the touch screen with his large, clumsy fingers and having to retype a word—but Kingsley knew his demographic surprisingly well.

Youth wanted substance, drama, and something worth watching. There were thousands of shows out there; Kingsley had to make his worth watching.

"Ah, there he is," Kingsley remarked with a thin smile when the door to the conference room opened. "Sit down, Mr. Malfoy, unless you'd rather not after that flight."

Draco groaned. He tried to roll out the stiff kink in his neck on his way to a plush black chair but it was no use. Draco would need a masseuse as soon as possible to work out whatever that bumpy flight had done to him. "Turbulence," he muttered bitterly before putting on a more professional face. "It's wonderful to finally get to meet all of you."

"Draco Malfoy," Kingsley nodded, motioning to the chair in which the raven-haired man sat. "Meet your co-host, Harry Potter."

Draco looked over in abject terror. Harry, still as s of some interns when he walked in, but that was no excuse to leave Harry hhort as Draco had remembered him to be, was more than a few inches below his death glare.

"_Potter_?"

"Ah, you two know each other. That makes things much simpler." Kingsley figured it was one of those 'all gay people know all other gay people' situations with Malfoy and Potter, even though he knew nothing about being queer himself. "We need you both refreshed and well-rested tomorrow morning, however, so it would be optimal to sign now and return to your hotel room."

Room? Singular _room_? There was no way that was happening. Absolutely no way in hell.

Kingsley must have read Harry's mind. "You'll be sharing a hotel room for the rest of the cases. One double bed each and a mini-fridge, don't look so worried."

That really didn't help Harry or Draco's shock or horror. They had some gritty history, and how was Harry to be sure that Draco wouldn't strangle him in his sleep?

After having attended high school together, to say they hadn't parted on the best of terms was a massive understatement.

Draco had been a part of the Clique To End All Cliques. It was a group of snotty, privileged rich kids that had way more money to spend then they could possibly ever deserve. If Harry's memory served him correctly, Draco had been in that gang with Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott, and… Crabbe? Maybe there was a 'Goyle', too.

Harry, on the other hand, had his two best friends Ron and Hermione. They all still kept in touch—especially Ron and Hermione, they were actually engaged—and had more or less bitterly despised Draco's group of friends back in school. They'd called the trio everything from hideous to dirt-poor, flipped over their lunches, sent them crude notes in class, and laughed at their expense every chance they got.

Kingsley cleared his throat.

"Yes," Draco answered quickly. "We went to the same high school." A_nd Potter was a self-righteous twat who kept accusing my family of incest. He was so jealous of me I was surprised his face didn't turn green_.

"Then perhaps you can catch up on that later. Right now, we need signatures."

Harry didn't want to do this with_ him_.

Draco seemed to firmly agree with that. He crossed his arms, flashing Harry a distasteful look. Harry and his rag-tag friends hadn't exactly been passive victims in the situation, they got loads of revenge on Draco's clique that left him seething.

"I don't think you heard me correctly," Kingsley said, voice rising in volume. "We are starting tomorrow. These people—" he motioned to the tidy businesspeople around them. "—have children. They have other projects to work on. They don't care if you hooked up in high school and feel awkward about it. Their time is wasting, my time is wasting, and it's on you two to sign these papers or walk out the door."

Alarmed, Harry corrected a grievous error. "We never hooked up in high school!"

"I would never," Draco assured Kingsley, offended that he would even accuse Draco of lowering himself like that.

"Do you want to work on filming this project, Potter?"

"Yes, but—"

"Do you want to work on filming this project, Malfoy?"

"Of course, but Kingsley—"

The older man hushed the both of them. He reached over and rested his thick fingers on the paper they had to sign, pushing it over towards them. The conference room was deadly silent; all cellphones temporarily idle to watch how Kingsley would handle his employees.

It would set the precedence for further insubordination of the talent, and the 'talent' in this case being two very cross grown men temporarily stuck in their mutually shitty high school experience.

"I'm not going to hold your hands here. Whatever tiff you used to have? You can leave it at the door. _Sign_." Kingsley was there to make money and revolutionize fucking television.

Still, they hesitated.

"Alright, Jonathan, call in Fletchley and Bones. These two are wasting our time," Kingsley waved dismissively.

The persnickety young Jonathan was already dialing them up.

Just like that Draco could see the money, the recognition, the untold stories slip right through his fingers. It would be back to the job hunt when Draco hadn't a clue what he wanted to do with his life, and he'd never get his father off of his back again. "Fine," Draco snapped. He grabbed the nearest pen and signed away his metaphorical soul.

Harry was shocked Draco was the first to give in. Were things really so bad back in high school? Had Harry just been clinging to old grudges? If Malfoy was willing to move on after what Harry had done to his shiny green car back in the school parking lot, then maybe Harry was being childish.

"Fine," he echoed, taking his own pen and contract in hand.

"That's what I thought." Kingsley was far too pleased with himself for Draco's taste. He wanted so badly to wipe that grin off of his face. "Now that that's taken care of…"

Kingsley seemed to be composing himself for some sort of speech.

"I'd like to end this meeting on a higher note. We have a huge day tomorrow. We have thousands of emails from young people waiting in an inbox for Draco and Harry." He motioned to them. "They're the ones in front of the camera now, they're the ones investigating, but this is a show about the people who contact us. This is uncharted territory—tracking where millennial and online love leaves everyone and if people can be trusted across the internet—and the hearts of this show are the people who ask for our help."

In all honesty, Kingsley could care less if Potter and Malfoy got along. It would provide interesting banter while they searched for the truth, and if worst came to worst Kingsley trusted the editing team to make them look like they enjoyed each other's company.

The network wanted the show to wrap up filming as soon as possible so that they could get it into production and work out the nuances of what would hopefully be a hit. There would have to be a formula to each episode: meeting the individual who needed help, researching their online lover, and then arranging a meeting with them. That meeting would be filmed as well, and Kingsley was glad that would be different every time.

"Keep that in mind for tomorrow," Kingsley nodded. "You two rest well, the cameras will be in your room by nine."

Room. _Singular room_. What had Harry gotten himself into?

As the suits filed out around him led by Kingsley, Harry hoped to hell he'd made the right decision. He looked to Malfoy to try and read the other man's face once they were alone in the room.

Under a couple of layers of shock and disgust there had to be a reasonable human being in there, right?

"I like the bed furthest from the window. I hate the light waking me up in the morning," Draco began, cutting Harry off the second he opened his mouth. Oh, that was bad. Draco figured 'partners' should at least let each other speak. "Right. You were going to say…?"

"I thought you hated me," Harry blurted out. "Back in school. I mean, I sure hated you. But you're sure you still want to do this?"

"It doesn't matter if I'm sure, we've already signed up. What happened in school was—"

"Cruel? Rude of you? Pretty despicable?" Harry offered airily.

"Are you still hung up on that? Wow, Pansy was right, you really did have a little obsession with me," Draco teased, falling right back into their old roles.

"Not even in your dreams, Malfoy."

"Oh, you haven't changed a bit," Draco snarked.

"Neither have you," Harry decided, and they walked to their hotel room in silence.

That was a complete lie, though. Draco had grown into his bony face in a way that made him look almost like one of those marble statues that he saw back on a vacation to Italy a couple years ago. He dressed casually like Kingsley had told him to, but the plaid shirt and tight pants were much more stylish than Harry's polo and khakis.

He'd really have to borrow some clothes if Draco somehow (Harry was doubtful that this was even possible) proved himself to be a decent man, maybe even a favorable coworker.

Harry was working with _Draco_, he thought in disbelief as they entered the room in a tense silence.

Draco claimed the bed furthest from the window just as he had demanded, and Harry didn't put up much of a fight about it. Both beds had the same blue-striped sheets.

Harry turned around to the suitcase he brought in earlier. "We have to get along," he grumbled.

"_I'm_ getting along fine," Draco huffed before doing the unthinkable.

Right in front of Harry he started to strip, letting his shirt fall to the ground in a mess the hotel maids would have to clean in the morning. Harry's mouth was as dry as the Sahara. "What—What are you doing?"

"Going to bed."

"For fuck's sake, Malfoy, are you just going to keep being a flippant asshole until you make me regret this decision?"

Draco sighed. For a sweet, sweet moment it looked as if Draco was going to give in and agree to attempt a reconnection, but instead he just dropped his jeans to the ground. "I'm going to bed."

"Malfoy! I'm still going to be here when you wake up!" Harry reminded him. The whole thing may have felt like a terrible, terrible fever dream, but they both knew it was real. "We have to film tomorrow!"

"Obviously. That's why I'm getting some rest; I don't want to look like a zombie on the first day." The way Draco snarled that out definitely implied Harry was going to look like a zombie, which only fanned the flames of his anger.

His dream job was turning into a nightmare. "You show up again after all you did to me in school and you just...? You just go to bed?" he demanded. "Malfoy, I don't think you're fully grasping what's going on here. You. Me. Hotel room._ Months_. Working together and trying to help people."

Draco had had quite enough of Potter's ramblings and quite enough of being awake altogether. "Look," he snapped. "I had a rough flight over here. I'm going to sleep, so are you, and we're going to get along in the morning. I don't have some grand scheme to antagonize you."

Harry shook his head. "Nope. You can't go to bed."

"Why not?" Draco groaned. Harry was like the ghost of his past come to haunt him. Draco was one hell of a jerk back in school, and seeing Harry again—hearing him talk about how Draco had treated him—only added to Draco's pile of self-loathing for who he used to be.

"Apologize."

"What?"

"Apologize, Malfoy."

"For what?" Draco demanded.

"Oh, I don't know," Harry mused, kicking off his shoes. "Should I retell all of the jokes you made about my parents? Or would it be better if I slipped a note in your locker with a picture of you in a dress on it? Wait, wait, I know! I'll refresh your memory with one of _the fucking buttons you made about my friends and I_."

Shit. The 'Potter Stinks' buttons were a strange phase in Draco's life. His auntie Bella had bought him a button-maker and he had gone way, way overboard. He'd gotten so many kids at school to wear them.

"Okay," Draco said slowly, sitting up on the bed. While Harry may have felt weaker without clothes covering his skinny body, Draco seemed even more empowered in his boxers. "That was kind of a dark time for me."

"Ever wonder how it was for me?" Harry laughed. "No, of course not, I don't know why I even asked that."

Another groan left Draco's lips. "Fine," he sighed, the second time he'd been coerced into something inadvisable that day.

Harry cocked an eyebrow.

"Fine, I'm sorry that I was an asshole. I'm going to bed now." Draco tunneled under the sheets, wrapping himself and stuffing a pillow over his head just in case Potter decided to speak any more ridiculous words or request childish apologies.

Oddly enough, Harry didn't. He picked a corner that Draco didn't have in his line of vision to change into pajamas, content with what he'd gotten out of the other man.

Both of their night stand lights were still on when Harry hopped into his bed. He was never sure what the proper etiquette was for sharing a room with an old arch-enemy. "Malfoy, I'm going to turn these off." _There_, Harry thought. _I used to be able to hold my own against Malfoy all the time. Worrying about him being here is just going to make me crazy. All I have to do is put up with him._

"Draco," Draco corrected and turned his lamp off.

"Hm?"

"For the show," Draco clarified. "It'd be confusing to the audience if we used last names."

"Right. The audience."

Kingsley was right about one thing: they had a huge day tomorrow. Whether it was the massive salary, the adventure, or the fact that Draco thankfully didn't snore in his sleep that night, Harry figured he may as well look forward to it.


	2. Chapter 2: Ruth and Chris

**AN:** This is for Mallika, who lets me bitch to her on New Year's Eve and beg for advice. For her, I have a little surprise in this fic. Happy new year to everyone, too! May 2014 bring you lots of gay magic and queer representation in every form.

**Chapter 2: Ruth and Chris**

"Rolling," Draco warned Harry. The crew had given Draco a small handheld camera to use in order to give the show a more personal feel, giving the illusion that he and Harry were the only ones in the room.

They weren't actually the only ones in the room since there had to be wide shots of Draco and Harry talking to one another in their hotel-room chairs, but still. The camerawoman who was taking these zoomed-out shots stayed completely silent while she worked.

The opening and closing credits would be a compilation of shots from the actual investigations so that was all there was to shoot.

Kingsley wanted plenty of shots of the actual online messages between the lovers, shots of Harry and Draco on the road, and a voiceover of Harry explaining what the show was all about.

"Hey," Harry started. "I'm Harry Potter."

'More casual', Kingsley mouthed from behind the camerawoman.

"I'm Harry," Harry tired again, giving the camera a nervous little wave. Kingsley liked it; it made him vulnerable enough to be relatable. "Based on the documentary 'Catfish', the term catfishing means to lure someone in by pretending to be someone you're not online. A few months ago we asked all of you to send in your bizarre internet love stories that seem too good to be true, since you've never met the person. This show follows your leads with me, my partner Draco, and a crew from MTV to help people meet your online loves for the first time."

The next part Harry had to read off of a cue card. He kept his tone as casual as he could, hoping not to sound like some news broadcaster. "Is the person they've fallen for telling the truth, or hiding behind lies?" Harry maintained his conversational tone. "Will they find love or heartache? No matter what happens, we're here to solve the mystery. Catfish the documentary was one story, Catfish the TV show is yours."

Kingsley nodded and the camerawoman stopped filming. "Perfect." Harry glowed. "Now we're going to do that three more times." Harry wilted.

Still, he repeated the introduction until Kingsley was satisfied with the number of copies. Harry couldn't wait until he got to the part where he wouldn't have to read rehearsed lines.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" Kingsley asked, not really wanting an answer. "Remember to narrate as we go along, avoid cursing, and most importantly, pretend the cameras aren't here."

Harry nodded, waiting for the camerawoman to adjust her shot.

"You can start," she told them, one eye deep in the camera lens.

Well. Acting like they got along in front of the cameras was going to be a chore after the morning they'd had.

Draco spent approximately twelve years on his hair in the morning while Harry had been trying to brush his teeth, and approximately another twelve years bitching about the bland continental breakfast the hotel offered them.

"Draco," he began as if he hadn't snapped at Draco for being so stuck-up that morning. _Keep it casual_. "I'm logging into the email account."

The point of view switched between the wide shot and the camera in Draco's hand. When he zoomed up at the subject lines it became clear that all the subject lines were pleas for help.

'Who did I really fall in love with?' was right above 'After three years, I need the truth', and below that was a fairly shocking 'My fiancée refuses to meet me in person'.

"We've got a lot to pick from," Harry laughed.

The next step was to start reading some out loud. Not all of the cases would make it onto the show, but the ones that did had to look like they were organically chosen.

"Let's get a wild one to start off," Draco suggested, trying to appear as amicable as possible when really he wanted to dunk Potter's head in a toilet like he had in the good old days.

"How about this one? Subject line just says 'help'." Harry snickered and Draco seemed to smile along with him for the cameras. "'Dear MTV, My name is Jacob and I'm currently in training to become a washing machine repairman. I live in my hometown of sunny San Diego, California, but I've got one big problem. The girl I'm in love with is all the way up in North Dakota.' I didn't know people even lived in North Dakota."

"They don't," Draco confirmed. "It's just a rumor that human life can exist in such a barren wasteland."

Okay, Harry had to admit that was sort of funny. He got why Draco was hired when he looked up for a second to see a smile on Kingsley's face. He wanted hosts with personality, and if Harry had to say one kind thing about Draco, it was that he had a load of personality.

"Next one?"

"This one is from…" Harry waited for the screen to load after clicking on the message with the subject line 'Perfect guy for me'. "'Dear MTV, The love of my life refuses to meet me in person, even though we live in the same city.'"

Draco made a face. "The same city and they won't meet? I call Catfish right now."

"They could be real," Harry offered. "Not everyone has the money for transportation, even if it is just an hour away."

"For the 'love of their life'?" Draco asked with a thick tone of disbelief. "Please. If he really loved her, he would make time."

"Not everyone has time to spare from, you know, working or surviving."

Draco rolled his eyes. "He clearly has time to screw around all day and text this girl, and he certainly pays his internet bill."

"There are such things as public computers, Draco," Harry said through gritted teeth. "Just because someone has internet access doesn't mean it's impossible for them to be poor."

Kingsley cleared his throat and the cameras stopped rolling. "We want bickering, not whatever this is. Keep it casual."

"Right." Harry saw the light that meant they were recording come back on. "Oh, here's a good one. The subject line is 'I'm ready to meet my prince charming'."

Draco snorted. At least Potter could see the humor in that. "Open it."

"'Dear MTV,'" Harry read aloud. "'My name is Ruth, I'm a nursing assistant from Texas, and I've been completely swept off of my feet by a guy I met online named Chris. We may live on opposite sides of the country, but for the past two years I've been falling more and more in love with him and his sweet personality. He's not like other guys that I meet."

It was a cliché, but Draco acknowledged that it was at least a heartfelt cliché.

"'I've tried to meet him a few times but something always comes up with his modeling work in New York City that prevents him from seeing me. He's a male runway and photography model, but he hasn't gotten much work lately.'"

"I'm sure," Draco muttered sarcastically.

"It gets better. 'Over the years he's sent me pictures of himself both from modeling and from his personal life to prove it's really him instead of video chatting. As much as I love those photos, I need more. Please help me meet Chris, I can't live without having kissed him for a single second longer.' Aw, that's actually sweet."

"Open the attached pictures," Draco request, leaning over Harry's shoulder with his handheld.

The first picture was all the two men needed to take interest in the case. A copper-skinned, muscular, beautiful man was standing in front of the New York skyline giving the camera a sultry look. Draco immediately zoomed in on those eyes.

"If this is actually Chris that would explain his model status. I want to help this woman," Harry decided immediately. "I want to help her meet her 'prince charming'."

Draco nodded. It seemed like a simple enough case to set the tone for the season, and if it somehow wound up actually being Chris then that would be their first success story. "Did she leave a Skype number?"

Harry scrolled down. "Yup. Let's see if she's at her computer." Harry pulled up Skype, as glitchy as the program was they had paid for a sponsorship on the show, and entered her number. Harry was logged onto the verified MTV Catfish account so it wouldn't seem as if some random creep was calling Ruth.

Camera still focused on the screen, Draco had almost forgotten he was also being filmed in the wide-shot. Every one of his little reactions was put on display; how could he not look at the camera? Draco forced his eyes down to the laptop screen as Harry dialed up this Ruth.

When she picked up, the screen filled with the face of a smiling blonde woman. "Hi!" she greeted them into her laptop's microphone. The audio was scratchy, but at least they could tell she was real.

"Hey, Ruth," Harry replied. "I'm Harry and this is Draco. We're from MTV's show Catfish. You sent us an email about wanting to meet your boyfriend Chris and we just wanted some more information."

Ruth could hardly believe it. "Oh, god," she exclaimed with a bit of a southern twang. "This is so amazing!"

"How did you meet Chris?" Draco questioned.

"Well, we both liked the official Katy Perry fan page and we got to talkin' on one of her posts." It was incredible to see Ruth talk about Chris. Even though she'd never so much as breathed the same air as his, she twisted her blonde curls around her finger when she talked, totally smitten. "And I replied because he was cute, and it just kept going from there. He's been with me through so much, he always is there to talk to."

"You really do love him," Harry nodded in admiration. He was always getting worked up over love. "Have you ever talked to him on the phone?"

"Just once when he left me a voicemail on my birthday," she admitted.

"Why not call him again?" Draco asked with subdued suspicion. One instance of a male voice on a phone call didn't prove anything.

Ruth with her blonde hair and the pastel pink bedroom behind her, shrugged. "I guess it never occurred to us. We both really like to talk over text."

"Well," Harry turned back to Draco. They exchanged glances—it took them a little while to decipher each other's facial expressions—and they were moving forward.

Harry turned back to the laptop to see an expectant Ruth. "Ruth, we'd really like to come down there and meet you so we can get you together with Chris." She'd fly to New York with them on MTV's dime.

Ruth, unsurprisingly, screamed. "Oh my gosh!" she said over and over again. "Oh my gosh, thank you!"

"Send us an email with your address and we'll be there," Draco told her after looking to Kingsley for further instruction. The man was waving his hands wildly behind the camerawoman to try and signal Draco to ask for the address.

"I will! Thank you so much, I can't believe I'm going to see my Chris!"

"See you soon!"

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Harry ended the Skype call with a smile on his face. "Wow. The first case."

"We have another flight ahead of us," Draco sighed wearily. The last one had really kicked his ass.

"I'm sure you'll live."

xxx

Kingsley wouldn't be accompanying them on their travels in order to work on all of his separate projects (The Real World Miami wasn't going to direct itself), so they bid farewell to him at the airport and walked to Gate 3B as fast as they could. Harry would have accused Draco of trying to walk in front of him as some power-trip thing, but that would have set him off again.

From that moment on it was Harry and Draco running the show like a kid riding a bike without training wheels, and anything could throw off their balance.

"Pretzel?" Harry offered begrudgingly when he realized Draco was staring at the soft pretzel he'd gotten from one of the airport shops like a starved lion.

"Yes," he replied quickly, tearing off half of the pretzel for himself and scarfing it down.

"You know, you eat like a complete slob for someone who's so stuck up," Harry offered.

Draco didn't care, he had his pretzel. "It's sort of how instead of being up-to-date on trends like gay men are expected to be, you dress like a washed-up father of three."

"How is this fatherly?" Harry asked, looking down.

"You have enough pockets to fit a world of snotty tissues in," Draco motioned to Harry's cargo pants with all of the flaps and buttons.

Harry was about to argue their functionality when a voice crackled over the intercom. "Now boarding first class for flight 394, all first class passengers to gate 3B."

"It's practical," Harry explained as they lined up, tickets in-hand.

Draco just rolled his eyes. "When we meet this 'Chris' in New York I'll show you how to dress for your stature."

"Screw you," Harry snapped, getting strange looks from the flight attendants who ushered them down one of those makeshift hallways to the plane. "What makes you the expert on this? And don't bring up some crap about us being gay. Those stereotypes are ridiculous and you of all people should know that."

Harry took his seat in first class next to Draco, who for some reason liked being near the window on airplanes but not in hotel rooms.

"Do you think I'm trying to attack you or something?" Draco sighed as he settled in, leaning his seat back far enough to trap the woman sitting behind him. "I'm trying to help you."

"Could you maybe do it with a little less condescension?"

That was a fair enough point, but Draco's default setting was condescending. "Why does it matter how I say it?"

"It does," Harry insisted. "It just does, so be nice, for fuck's sake."

The woman stuck behind Draco's chair leaned forward. "Excuse me, but could you please not use language like that? My five year-old daughter is in the bathroom right now, but if you could be considerate when she comes back, that would be lovely."

At the same time that Harry apologized, Draco informed the woman to mind her own damn business.

"See? You're a complete dick!" Harry pointed out. "Maybe you've got something constructive to say but there's no way anyone will listen to you when you're such a dick."

"Mommy, what's a dick?" the little girl who had returned from the bathroom asked, having been escorted back by a shocked-looking flight attendant.

The mother gave both Harry and Draco the stink eye while Draco mumbled something about how children on airplanes should be quarantined.

With a sigh, Harry put his headphones in and ignored the girl kicking his chair for the rest of the flight.

xxx

The network gave them two cars. One for Draco and Harry, and one for the camera crew. The first car was outfitted with dash cameras that recorded the inside of the car to capture any exchanges between the two hosts that they wanted to use in the how or the opening.

To give the show a more authentic feel, Harry would be driving while Draco filmed with his handheld as well and read off directions.

"Take a right at the next light. No, not this one! The next one," Draco ordered.

Harry let a hiss of air out and put his turn signal on after passing the intersection. "Please tell me we're close."

"We're close."

"Really?" Harry replied with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. The ride hadn't been as terrible as he thought it would be.

"No," Draco admitted. "But apparently I'm too much of a dick when I tell the truth."

Harry could have strangled him.

A half an hour later, Harry and Draco were at the doorstep of Ruth Greenway. She lived in a tiny house off a major road and she had hanging plant pots on each side of her front door. If someone had asked Draco to picture the living space of the sort of young woman who fell in love with 'models' online, he wouldn't have pictured this.

Though a bit rusty on the hinges, the house was well off.

"This is it," Harry said for the camera before hopping out of the car. They'd parked right in the driveway like they lived there or something.

Close behind was Draco with his camera as Harry knocked on the door.

The rush of footsteps could be heard within before the door swung open. "Oh my god! Come in, come in," Ruth greeted them.

Ruth had bought a new sundress for the occasion and gotten her sister to do her makeup. She was going to be on _television_.

"Hey, Ruth. I'm Harry and this is Draco," Harry greeted her. He wasn't sure if he should shake her hand or what, but she solved that problem by embracing Harry with a hug. "Excited?"

"So, so excited," she told them.

Even Draco got a little hug from Ruth, the MTV crew behind him capturing the moment.

Ruth motioned to the floral couch in the adjacent living room. "Y'all can sit here."

"Good, good," Harry murmured as they settled down. He took in their quaint surroundings with a faint smile on his face.

Draco was the first to ask. "What is it about Chris that's so special?" he asked sincerely.

"I love him," Ruth told them as if that explained everything. "And he loves me. He listens, you know? He listens and he actually cares about what I have to say which is so rare for me."

The cellphone in her pocket buzzed.

"Is that him?" Draco asked with a lopsided grin.

"Nah," she laughed. "It's just my boss talking to me about work stuff right now, but we usually do text."

"Can we see the texts?"

Ruth's neck flushed pink. "Well, sure. Let me find some… Representative ones," she laughed breathily as she scrolled through her phone.

"As opposed to the non-representative ones?" Draco asked again in the same playful tone Ruth had used.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off of Draco for the life of him. Draco was at the right angle for his eyelashes to be lit up by the sun. A nearby window let in the warm, yellow glow that dappled Draco's face.

Not even Ruth's giggle could unfix Harry's eyes from Draco.

"Some texts are personal, that's all!" she defended. "Very personal, if you catch my drift."

Draco laughed in that spot of sunshine. "Quite the modern southern belle, then! Along with your 'personal' texts, have you ever sent any intimate photos?"

"One or two," Ruth admitted with bright red cheeks. "But that's hardly important! Here, here are some texts between him and I before went to sleep last night."

Draco's handheld positioning to get the shot blocked Draco's face and broke the spell on Harry. Realizing he'd been mute this entire time, Harry shook off his daze and jumped back into the conversation.

"'Sleep tight, bae.' 'You too, sweetie.' 'Only if I dream of you' and then a winky face. There's the three big words, too," Harry motioned to the screen. "You tell each other you love each other before you go to bed."

Ruth nodded. "It's the truth. I can't wait until I meet him."

Harry looked to Draco with concern. Words were fine enough, but there was still no solid proof that Chris was who he said he was. "Do you ever have doubts that that's really Chris?" asked Harry quietly.

"Never. It's so real. He even put that we're in a relationship as his Facebook status."

That wasn't much proof, either. Harry hoped Chris was real for her sake.

"Do you have the paper with all of the contact information and facts you know about him written down?" Draco asked. "I think it's time that Harry and I investigate further."

"Here!" Ruth handed it over with the utmost confidence that every lead and loose end would check out. "Everything Mr. Shacklebolt asked for in his email. Hey, I also have those forms he wanted me to print out and sign about being on TV…"

"We'll take them," a camerawoman from the crew offered.

Wow, Harry had forgotten they were there between Ruth's talk of Chris and Draco's… Well. Harry didn't quite know what that moment was. Draco was objectively attractive so it was probably just a moment of quiet admiration, or at least that was what he told himself.

Harry was sure Draco would do something annoying and dick-esque that would make him forget it soon enough anyway.

xxx

"Grilled cheese on Texas Toast," the room service attendant dictated, handing the plate to Harry. "And a slice of dark chocolate cake." That was for Draco, of course. According to him it was the dinner of champions.

"Delicious," Draco purred upon receiving his meal. He tipped the attendant well and gave him a wink as he left.

Harry rolled his eyes the second the door shut but let it go in favor of doing their jobs. "Turn the camera on so we can get started?"

"If you insist."

"I do," Harry nodded, bringing the laptop to rest on the table in front of them. The room thankfully had two chairs and a table unlike the last one, otherwise they'd have to do their research sitting cross-legged on one of their beds like it was a sleepover.

Draco hit the record button.

"So thus far all we have is a name, a cellphone number, and a Facebook account," Harry listed. "Let's start by finding out who the phone number is registered to."

What had to be the funniest part of this job was that any half-wit with internet access could do it. All Draco and Harry needed to do was put the phone number into any search engine and if the number had a publically registered name or location attached to it, then that name or location could be easily looked up.

Harry pressed enter on the search engine. "No name registered," Harry grimaced. "But this does confirm that whoever this is lives in New York. The phone's registered on Verizon and was activated in New York City."

"Doesn't prove that Chris is Chris," Draco shrugged.

"Then let's look at his Facebook. Hm."

"Fifty friends," Draco read off the screen suspiciously. "Nobody just has fifty friends. They have coworkers, old classmates, friends of friends, family members, and any random person who adds them and there's no way that for this 'model' Chris that could mean fifty friends. He'd need connections to the modeling world if he ever wanted anyone to hire him."

"Let's message some," Harry offered.

After typing out a message asking for further information on whoever this Chris was, Harry added the official Catfish email for them to send their responses and his own cellphone number for them to call. There was no way that could backfire, right?

"While we wait for them to get back to us we should image search his pictures, too," Draco said from behind his camera. If there were duplicates of those images anywhere in the internet, they would be found with a simple search that Ruth definitely could have done herself.

Harry dragged the man's profile picture into Google. In it, Chris was hidden behind sunglasses and drinking some kind of alcohol through a straw. "Nothing on this one."

There were only a couple photos, too. All profile pictures. "Try the first one," Draco told Harry. The first profile picture Chris ever used was of a dark-skinned man wearing a fuzzy vest and an appropriative bamboo hat at some photo shoot for an unnamed brand. _Fashion_.

The two profile pictures could definitely be of the same person based on height and build, but sunglasses obscured the face of the first. Draco couldn't even really tell if they were the same person.

However, the modeling picture got a hit. "Original source is Ford Models," Harry read aloud, opening up a sleek gallery page of photos.

"There," Draco pointed to the corner of the gallery that contained the photography credits. "It says the model's name is Brian Beckham."

"_Brian_? Who the hell is Brian?" Harry said aloud in his confusion. He copied and pasted the man's name into Google, itching for answers.

Draco smirked. He knew he had the right feeling about 'Chris' not being who he said he was, and nobody gloated like a Malfoy proved right. "It's obviously the Catfish. We don't even know if the person running the profile is a man."

A little 'ding' came from the tab where Harry still had his Facebook open. "It's one of his friends," Harry said, surprised. "'Hello, Harry. I can confirm that Chris is who he says he is because we went to high school together'." Harry paused. "I think we literally just proved them wrong."

"We did," Draco nodded. "Message them to stop bullshitting us."

Harry translated that into a kinder, gentler message and hit send.

"And now they're not replying. Go figure," Draco snarked.

"They could just be away from their computer."

"Or they could also be a fake profile. Maybe everyone on that friends list is fake."

Harry didn't think that was likely. "That's too much effort just to talk to one person on the internet."

"Ruth thinks she loves Chris, maybe whoever is running the Chris profile thinks that they love Ruth. I can't imagine how they'd delude themselves into that since they've been lying to her for so long, but I've seen people do stupider things for love," Draco shrugged. "Is that all we can really research?"

"Yeah, nothing else comes up when I put search Chris' name in relation to modeling. The name is definitely made up," he said, let down by whoever this person was that made him believe Chris was a real possibility.

There was no telling how Ruth would react.

"Ruth deserves to know the truth. I'm going to try calling Chris' number to set up a place in New York City where we can all meet," Harry told the camera as he dialed the number.

A tense second passed by. Harry had put speaker phone on so the camera could pick up audio, and the two men in the room heard every ring perfectly.

The phone rang twice, three times, four times, five times—and voicemail.

Harry and Draco, having both been holding their breaths, let the air rush out. "Damn," Draco muttered.

The voicemail inbox wasn't even set up, so they got the generic 'Please leave a message at the tone' spiel. "It's not 1980, why the hell doesn't he have a custom voicemail set up?" Harry grumbled, his sullen face mirroring just how Draco felt about the whole thing.

"Especially since that's the phone he uses for 'business'. Models need to show up when called."

Finally, Harry heard the tone. "Hello, Chris," he tried out. The name felt wrong to say out loud. "This is Harry Potter and I'm from the TV show Catfish. We've just met Ruth—a really lovely girl—and she wants to come see you. I know you've had things come up in the past that prevented you two from meeting, but she needs to see you as soon as possible. Call me back for details."

"Who is this asshole?" Draco asked more as a rhetorical question when Harry hung up. Draco had begun to pace around the hotel room as he thought, not really focusing on where he was going.

That was when Harry noticed Draco had turned the camera off after the voicemail. This pacing, this fretting and frustration wasn't for the audience. "Do you actually care what happens to Ruth?" Harry asked in disbelief.

"I'm not a sociopath." Draco stopped in his tracks, offended. The whole 'I'm So Cool Because I'm Unfeeling' thing got really tired by age eighteen. "Ruth is a perfectly nice girl who wanted romance so badly she made herself believe someone's lies. It's sad."

The only question that conjured up for Harry was: Why would 'Chris' lie? What was this person trying to hide, and how bad was it that they had to change their name and image?

"You think she knows they're lies?"

Draco shrugged. "On some level I think so, but on another level she wants them to be true so badly that it doesn't even matter."

That was sad.

Still, Harry held out hope. Maybe Chris had some physical deformity or something that he thought Ruth would judge him for at first.

As the two readied for bed that night with about the same amount of snipping as the last, Harry really hoped that the photo and occupation were the only things that Chris was lying about.

xxx

Harry was only awake for a few bleary minutes when his phone buzzed on the nightstand.

He'd planned to wake up slowly, to ease into consciousness without facing the day all at once, but the thought of Hermione or Ron being in crisis and texting him was enough to get him to pick up the phone.

Luckily, it was just a text message and Harry wouldn't have to try and form coherent sentences this early after having woken up.

The text wasn't from Ron or Hermione, though. It was from a contact Harry had entered into his phone at the last minute the previous evening. Draco and he hadn't stayed up late enough to hear back from Chris in favor of sleeping.

One of the few things that Draco and Harry could agree about was that jetting around was exhausting. They were quiet roommates out of respect for one another's need for sleep. Hours in stagnant tubes being jetted across the sky with someone formed a camaraderie that at least extended to letting one another get basic human functions done without interruption.

"Chris," Harry said out loud. "It's Chris. Get the camera, it's Chris."

Draco groaned from the other side of the room and the rush of fabric must have been him yanking the blankets over his head. "No. Shut up, Harry, I can't think about Chris this early in the morning. It was bad enough we had to untangle his lies last night."

"He wants to meet Ruth, and I quote, 'because she deserves the truth'," Harry pointed out. At least this person wasn't messing with their heads anymore. It was pretty clear from the text that 'Chris' knew the sham was over.

"And why didn't she deserve the truth _two years ago_?"

"You can ask Chris that when we get to New York."

Draco groaned again. "No," he protested. "No more planes."

"They're not a joy for me, either," Harry grumbled.

"I thought you would be the worst part of this job, but I have truly and sincerely underestimated planes."

Harry smiled to himself. Maybe they could be friends united in hatred of transportation. "Finally found something you hate more than me," he remarked.

"I don't hate you," Draco sighed. He sat up in his bed slumped-over with his hair the perfect picture of a bird's nest.

Harry usually tried his best to avert his eyes from a shirtless Draco due to the conflicting emotions the sight gave him, but for that comment, Harry had to turn over in his bed and look to Draco. "You don't hate me?"

Draco sighed. He really hadn't wanted to have this conversation, but there was no escape. Draco couldn't just flop back down and pretend to sleep, so he had to go forward. "Yeah, is that really so much of a shock? You're not horrible."

"Wow," Harry laughed. "That's high praise."

"It is," Draco nodded imperiously as if Harry hadn't been sarcastic about it. He had an uncanny ability to ignore vocal intonations. "You should be incredibly flattered. Most men like you would give up quite a bit to hear praise from me."

"_Men like me_?"

"You're always taking what I say so personally. I meant gay men in general, of which you definitely are," Draco reminded Harry gently.

Harry feigned shock. "Wow, I'd almost forgotten. If you hadn't reminded me I might have accidentally found myself in bed with a woman without realizing I only like cock. You're a saint; I'm really going to have to thank you for that and for implying that I'm attracted to you."

With a smile, Draco hopped out of bed, ready as he'd ever be to face whatever 'Chris' had in store for them. "You're welcome," he retorted chipperly. In Draco's mind it was really more of a fact that people were attracted to him, including Potter. It was one of the benefits of growing up spoiled.

Harry actually found it sort of amusing.

"Now pretend to be asleep so I can text you. Your phone will ring but you'll open Chris' text instead. It'll be organic and all of that."

"Only if you put some pants on," Harry bargained. "As hot as you think you are—"

"As hot as _you_ think I am," Draco corrected.

"Shut up."

"I don't hear you denying it."

"I don't hear you putting your damn pants on," replied Harry.

Considering himself the victor of the conversation—as if conversations even had victors—Draco got right to getting dressed and setting up the camera.

xxx

Literally incredible.

Draco had presented every discrepancy in Chris' story to Ruth candidly. He'd shown her how the photos belonged to another man, how this 'friend' of Chris' wasn't responding, and even with all that she still wanted to go to New York.

It was a step in the right direction for the television show for her to meet the liar, but Draco was highly disturbed at her lack of self-respect.

Draco tried to put himself in Ruth's shoes, to think about what would make him sink so low as to run after a man who had lied to him repeatedly, but not even that worked. Draco couldn't see any universe where he was with a known liar and stuck by his man. He also couldn't see any universe where he dated someone he knew online without meeting them.

Draco had needs, after all.

"I believe it's Chris. I'm going to meet him and he's probably going to give an explanation for all of this," Ruth had said when the cast and crew arrived back at her home. "Or at least some of this."

Ruth hadn't said it with much confidence, though. Her doubts seeped through the cracks in her armor which had been officially damaged upon finding out that she may have been sending intimate texts to a complete stranger.

Still, she was doing fairly well. Ruth was confident enough to sleep like a baby on the plane ride to New York behind Draco and Harry's seats.

Even with an agreeable fellow passenger, however, Draco and Harry still found ways to get on each other's nerves.

Draco—who considered airplane food to be somewhere below garbage—had whined about how Harry's airline chicken was worse than the food at their high school. It smelled foul enough to make Draco plug his nose, too.

Harry had eaten worse in college and firmly told Draco to suck it up, which led to another spat.

By the time they touched down in JFK, Draco and Harry were sick of arguing with one another as much as they were sick of travelling so the conversation came to a gracious halt on both sides.

The few grumbles they managed to exchange were strictly fact-based.

"Baggage at Zone 2."

"Network car outside."

"Hotel on 34th Street."

It was pretty much caveman-speak.

If Ruth was bothered by it, though, she didn't show it. The second the airplane touched the ground her eyes were as big as saucers. Anyone who looked in them could see the city lights as the sun began to set.

Draco and Harry were lucky without even knowing it, faking smiles for the cameras when they were caught in shots of Ruth admiring the flashing lights and advertisements. They were escorting a charming, beautiful young lady through the city, and it was her first time seeing it.

"This is just like the movies," Ruth whispered, face pressed up against the glass of the network car.

Her voice felt like another spike being driven into Harry's aching head. Harry's gut told him that Ruth would be disappointed no matter what happened the next day. Chris lied to her, and there was no way for sure to say if he would even show up to the meeting Harry had scheduled over text.

That was another thing. Harry had asked Chris to call him back, but he got a text. Why didn't Chris want them to hear his voice? It was only more evidence against his existence.

When they reached their separate hotel suites—Ruth got her own, of course, where she was currently being interviewed by the MTV crew on what it was like to travel so far from home and so close to Chris among other things—Harry had that question and a hundred others buzzing in his head. It felt like thoughts were trying to force their way out, pounding on the inside of his skull and pushing to get out of his ears.

"Hate planes," he offered to Draco as enticing conversation when he fell head-first into his own milky-white bed in their suite.

"Agreed."

"Hate Chris."

"Agreed." Draco didn't have much experience comforting people over failed romances, and he hated that he was definitely going to have to do it the next day.

Harry sighed. "Maybe it really is Chris and this is all some whacky misunderstanding."

"You watch too many romantic comedies."

"Let me have my hope," Harry requested.

"No."

Turning his head to look out the window—since Harry obviously got the bed by the window—he saw what looked like a toy city below the setting sun. Everything was so small, like the people below were really just specs of dust in an old play-set. "At least we have a nice view."

"You always have a nice view," Draco reminded him. "Me."

Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe it was the emotional stress about someone else's online relationship, maybe it was general unfurling of Harry's senses, but he laughed without any real malice towards Draco. It was strange, they had been arguing just hours ago and there Harry was, laughing with him.

Harry's sense of humor was clearly a traitor to The Cause. The Cause was of course maintaining the childish hatred of all things Draco Malfoy.

"I can't sleep," Harry admitted. "I slept on the plane and now I'm awake while being tired all at once."

"Fucking planes."

"That's how they make little planes, yeah."

"What?" Draco blurted out after a loud laugh.

"Plane sex. Plane intercourse," Harry explained as if it were just a fact of life.

Draco shook his head against the hotel sheets. "You need to go to sleep. You're loopy. Well, more loopy than usual."

"No."

"Sleep."

"Fine."

Well, that was satisfying. Draco got a grin out of Harry actually listening to him for the first time and from the way Harry's breathing seemed to have evened out, he really was listening.

Draco actually bothered to change into his nightwear before falling asleep in the bed next to Harry's, amused by how Potter had managed to drift off with his shoes on. A quiet part of Draco wanted to take them off for Harry's comfort, but a louder part did not care in the slightest; definitely not enough to get up and take them off himself.

The jetlag would wear off after a few hours of rest and they'd both be at each other's throats over something petty later on, but they couldn't forget the real reason they were in the Big Apple in the first place.

Ruth was just across the hall, and there was no telling what was going through her head after the MTV crew left her to herself.

When Draco and Harry saw her again in the morning, there were a couple of obvious signs she'd been crying. The dark circles under her eyes were covered with makeup, but she couldn't hide the puffy skin around her eyes.

In the hallway between their rooms, Harry didn't hesitate to offer a hug while Ruth didn't hesitate to take it.

"I'm worried," she admitted in Harry's ear, thankfully loud enough for the cameras surrounding them to capture it. "I'm so glad to be here and I'm so glad that you're helping me, but, oh… I can never go back after this. Things are never going to be the same no matter what happens."

"Hey," Harry comforted, giving her shoulder a pat. "Would you really want things to stay the same? Would you rather be stuck wondering?"

Ruth shook her head. "I can't go on like that, but I'm scared to go on and meet him."

"That's why you've got us," Draco reminded Ruth. He put down his own camera so he could look the woman in the eye. "Even if this doesn't turn out like you want it to, and it really might not, you need to know that you're safe. We've got your back."

"Not just physically," Harry nodded. "We're here for you after the meeting, during the meeting… If you want to leave in the middle just let me know."

"That's sweet," Ruth said quietly.

"It's what we're here for," Draco joked, voice light enough to chase away the heaviness of the moment.

Ruth smiled, thank fuck. "Let's go."

The car ride over maintained that level of steely camaraderie. Ruth may have entered the relationship with Chris alone two years ago, but Draco and Harry were there to back her up on that day.

Instead of driving Ruth blindly into Chris' turf, Harry had arranged the meeting over text to be at Bryant Park. Families were picnicking and one girl was even celebrating her birthday with her friends in the park, so there were lots of witnesses in case Chris tried something.

As per the network's request, a public place would always be best to meet in since their viewership was mostly impressionable high schoolers who also spent lots of time online. There was no telling what kind of grief parents groups would give MTV if they were promoting showing up at the homes of virtual strangers.

Harry parallel-parked the car, letting the crew in the jeep behind them to take care of their meters. Ruth had gotten to ride shotgun to capture each nervous tick of hers in the dashboard cameras as she drew closer and closer to her fate.

"I told him we'd be by the book stand," Harry said for the cameras. For Ruth, he offered an encouraging smile.

Almost as soon as they hopped out of the car and picked a table to sit at was Ruth unnerved once more.

She wrung her hands like she had when Draco and Harry first met her. "I hate this waiting. I hate it so much. I wish he would show up right now so I can rip it off like a Band-Aid."

Ruth didn't get her wish. It took another fifteen minutes of fidgeting at the table for a man in the crowd of New Yorkers relaxing in the park to reveal himself.

The second he started walking towards the table Ruth started shaking her head. "No, no, no. That can't be him. Turn around, please turn around. Please, let him be going somewhere else but here."

Ruth didn't get that wish, either.

Approaching them was a slightly overweight man dressed in slacks and a fedora, which was maybe the worst outfit possible in Draco's opinion. The fedora was tipped down like he was some kind of smooth criminal, and all it did was make Draco resent him more.

The only way the rest of his appearance could be described was average. He wasn't a model with dark skin, he was a pale sort of bean-shaped man that looked like he worked an office job.

"Hello, Ruth," he greeted the group with the sort of confidence that instead of admiring, Harry sort of hated. "Draco, Harry." He outstretched his hand to shake.

Harry took one for the team. "Hello," he said, shaking the man's hand. "I'm assuming you're Chris?"

"You would assume correctly."

Draco couldn't get over the fedora, he just couldn't get over it. What person in their right mind led on a pretty girl and met her in a _fedora_? It was a cardinal sin, it was the height of uncleanliness and ungodliness, and Draco wouldn't let it stand without at least insulting Chris. "Nice hat," he drawled. Even Draco, in all of his phases and downright bigoted childhood, had never worn a fedora.

"Thank you," Chris nodded. It wasn't like how Draco ignored tone; this guy just didn't pick up on it at all. "But as I'm sure you know, I have some explaining to do to the lovely lady over here."

"You do," Harry nodded, fueled by Draco's obvious distaste for the man. They would be united in their hatred of airplanes and in this smart-aleck. His word choice grated on Harry, like the man was trying to seem smarter than he really was.

Ruth, in between her gay guardian angels, wasn't as afraid as she thought she would be. "This is you," she confirmed. "This is you and you've been lying to me."

"Only about my exterior," Chris insisted.

"And your job," Draco added for him.

"Yes, that as well, but that was it. Everything I felt for you, every text and message—all of that was genuine."

"When you said you were out on modeling jobs, what were you really doing?" she demanded.

Chris faltered at that, his slimy attempt at a 'suave gentleman' faltering with him. "Well, I—I was doing work things. I was busy with things going on in my life. I'm sure if you let me explain you'll understand, and ideally, I would like to beg for your forgiveness."

"I don't understand," Ruth decided. "I don't want an explanation." Red blush rose in her cheeks, this time out of anger. "You—You led me on! You made me come all the way out here and look like a damn idiot! Is Chris even your real name?"

"Of course it is!" Chris defended.

"I—I sent you pictures of myself!" she ranted on, her eyes wide with anger. Ruth looked likely to pounce on him at any moment and rip that tacky fedora to shreds, but Harry remembered how Kingsley had mentioned physical fights were inadvisable.

Harry gently put a hand on Ruth's shoulder. "Ruth, we should walk away for a moment, okay? Let's just cool down somewhere else," Harry spoke in a voice low enough for only her to hear. Chris was clearly displeased.

"I can't believe it, I can't believe this asshole," Ruth growled but let herself be led away anyway. "He doesn't even talk like this online, are you sure it's the same person?"

"It's the person on the other side of the phone number. I'm sorry," Harry offered, walking with a protective arm around her shoulder until they were out of earshot of Chris.

That, unfortunately, left Draco alone with the man.

"I do love her," Chris insisted to Draco. "I swear I do, you have to believe me."

"Actually, I don't have to do anything," Draco reminded the man, disgusted by each new mole and blemish he saw on his skin from their increasingly unpleasant time together.

Chris gave Draco a knowing smile like they were friends or something. "You misunderstand me—"

"I understand you messed around with this kind girl and you haven't given a reason why yet."

Chris dipped his fedora down in what had to be a display of sadness, which made Draco wanted to strangle him. "I didn't think she'd accept me," he admitted.

"For what?" Draco asked.

"I know I'm not the kind of man that girls desire. They want douchebags that are jacked and tan, and that's not me," Chris explained. "So I created a new profile for myself to see what women would think of me if I looked the part. I know Ruth is incredibly beautiful, that she would never look twice at a man like me—"

"You're right!" Ruth shouted, Harry still gingerly trying to inch her away from the scene. "Because you're insecure! I could care what you look like! You're a_ liar_."

Draco nodded sagely in agreement.

"Well. If that's the way you feel—"

Ruth marched right back up to Chris and his fedora. Draco pitied her for how close she got to that damn thing, it probably smelled. "It is the way I feel. I told you things I haven't told any boyfriend before you. How shallow do you think I am?"

"I believe—"

"Do you think I'm so shallow that I would not talk to you because of your appearance?" she clarified.

It became clear to Chris that there was no way to pussyfoot around answering that. He cleared his throat. "Women like you—"

Draco and Harry simultaneously winced.

"Women like me?" Ruth demanded. "What the hell is wrong with women like me?"

"Beautiful women," he tried in a last attempt to save himself. "I meant that beautiful women don't usually go for men like me. I've been burned in love before."

"You know what—" she cut herself off. "I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear any of it. Harry, Draco, I want to leave."

Those were the magic words.

Draco got a final shot of their first Catfish before turning his camera off and walking back to the car with Ruth.

xxx

Their final interviews were held back at the hotel. Draco and Harry would talk about the case after sending Ruth back home since she finished her interview by then, which wasn't as melancholy as they had expected.

They would revisit her case in a few months to check up on how she was doing, and at the time she left New York she seemed to be doing well.

"I can move on," she'd told Draco and Harry. "I can move on even if it hurts."

"To bigger and better men," Draco had assured her.

She'd given them a final thank-you and wave at the check-in line before disappearing behind the security checkpoints.

"Our first," Draco reminisced to the camera teasingly. It was just Draco and Harry back in the hotel room, no crew around, and they had been encouraged to say what was on their mind.

Draco really shouldn't have been trusted with that sort of power. Harry felt for the people who had to edit this damn show.

"As much as I wanted it to be true, it wasn't," Harry said plainly to the camera.

"I was right all along," Draco nodded. "Total fake. And the _fedora_!"

There was a copious amount of footage from the ride back to the hotel where Draco ranted and raved about that accursed hat. "He seemed like even then he was trying really, really hard to be someone he wasn't. I kind of feel bad for him."

"The_ fedora_."

"Yes, Draco, he did have a fedora on."

"I'm irate," decided Draco after a moment's thought. "I hope Ruth knows she's beyond him. I hope she goes back to Texas and dances on a bar for a handsome cowboy or something."

Harry couldn't help but agree, even though he had run out of words in which to express it. "Yeah."

The quiet built up in Draco. He had to fill the room with something, anything. "He looked like the kind of guy who'd jack off to My Little Pony."

"Oh my _god_," Harry exclaimed in a near-shriek. "Do not ever, ever put that image in my head again! What is wrong with you? You can't say that for television!"

"It's the truth! We are harbingers of truth, Harry, it's our job to say things like that!" Draco shouted through laughter, sinking back into his hotel chair. "It's the truth!"

"We're starting the interview over again," Harry sighed, reaching for the camera stand and pressing the 'stop' button.

Purely to get under Harry's skin and gross him out some more, Draco made sure to include the My Little Pony comment in every single take.

Harry really, really wasn't sure of what he'd gotten himself into.


	3. Chapter 3: Kennedy and Brooke

**AN:** I'm sorry I haven't updated in forever, these chapters are a lot longer than I usually write but I don't want to break them up into tinier installments. Anyway, it's about time these boys started to warm up to one another, hm? This is for Antonia because we are apparently the only sane lesbians left in New Jersey and more often than not Catfish takes a trip down the lesbian rabbit hole. TW for homophobic slurs.

**Chapter 3: Kennedy and Brooke**

"One-hundred dollars," Harry stressed. The shirt in his hand was apparently worth the equivalent of one-hundred McDonald's dollar menu items, which Harry found hard to believe. That was enough fatty food to feed himself or someone else for at least a month.

Draco piled another one of the same color on top of it in Harry's arms. "It's the fabric you're paying for. It won't shrink, it won't get scratchy, and you have to admit it looks fantastic."

He frowned and looked down at the numerous hangers and pairs of pants Draco had picked out for him. As a man true to his word, Draco had taken him shopping in New York after the Chris and Ruth debacle. They'd visited a number of snooty, exclusive boutiques that Harry hadn't gotten to see much of since Draco had forced him into a dressing room in each one.

At this point Harry was just buying whatever fit to shut Draco up, but that was giving him more than a few pains in his wallet.

"This is the last store," Harry decided. "I'm not going to go broke on cashmere scarves."

"You're going to be on television," Draco reminded him. "You're not going to go broke. You're going to be famous like you've always dreamed of and when you take men back to your apartment after filming is done and they ask to get a closer look at what you wore for the show, you will be thanking me."

Harry smirked and ignored Draco implying Harry had always wanted to be famous. "I'm not sure I'll be so concerned with clothes if I bring a man home."

That got a wicked laugh out of Draco. "Touché. Still." He handed Harry another shirt in his size and Harry groaned.

"That's it. I'm going to the checkout."

"You're _welcome_."

Harry rolled his eyes and got on line to purchase the expensive garments. "Paying for the fabric," he grumbled, looking over the price tags.

Apparently there was something sort of magical about that fabric, because the man behind the counter gave Harry a lasting look when he put all of it down to buy it. "Excellent choices," the clerk purred. He had a croft of black hair and five o'clock shadow, and Harry liked to think that the clothes weren't the only reason the other man was checking him out.

"Thanks," Harry replied. Off to the side, he could see Draco rolling his eyes and decided to ignore it. Draco was the one that was making him buy hot clothes anyway.

"Did you," the clerk asked, leaning over to hand Harry the shopping bag. "Find everything you were looking for?"

"Almost everything."

"Hm? Well, my shift is ending in a couple minutes but I could certainly find time to help you out in _whatever_ way you need," the clerk assured him, voice loaded with double entendre.

Harry could hardly believe it. Was Draco really right about the clothing thing? He opened his mouth to reply when the blonde himself cut Harry off.

"Kingsley wants us to pick the next case and get started," Draco read from his phone screen in strangely sharp tone.

"Draco," Harry hissed, giving him a look he hoped was universal for 'I'm trying to get laid, fuck off' but either Draco didn't understand it or he ignored it.

"We have to go."

With a sigh, Harry paid for the clothes and left the opportunity for some anonymous way to take the edge off of the week behind.

"Oh, quit looking so disappointed," Draco chided as they made their way back to the hotel. "He had gauge earrings; I helped you dodge a bullet."

"I really wasn't concerned with his ear piercings, Draco."

"I was. Someone has to look out for you," Draco defended. The idea of forcing a hole into your ear and then widening it? That was almost as sick as fedoras to him and indicated that whoever had one Was Not Good Enough for his cohost.

"Thanks," drawled Harry with more than a tinge of sarcasm.

"You're welcome."

They stepped in the elevator up to their room and Harry groaned.

Spending so much time with Draco had cleared up a few things about Draco's particular sense of humor and his intention in doing what he did, but the man was still for the greater part an enigma. Draco did things that Harry really could think of no rationale for, like insisting on ordering water at restaurants without the customary lemon and snapping at waiters if they dared to leave it in. Draco always had a look on his face like he was perfectly justified in doing all of them.

One minute he was trying to get Harry to buy clothes that would attract men, the other minute Draco was putting down any man who so much as checked Harry out.

Harry thought back to something Draco had said earlier about how when filming ended they could go back home and live normally again. Harry was looking forward to that not only because it meant no more travelling but it meant not having a constant companion wherever he went.

Sure, Draco was great for conversation and easy on the eyes, but he really was a hamper on Harry's flirtations. His Grindr mobile app had been getting notifications all day long, but there was no way he could answer them without Draco catching a peek.

For a moment harry had a sick thought. Maybe—he grinned at the very suggestion of it—he should just flirt with Draco.

Ha! As if that could ever work.

Draco slid the keycard into the slot of their hotel room and pushed open the door. "Where'd I put my camera?" he wondered out loud.

"Nightstand," Harry motioned before putting the shopping bags down. He'd empty them and fold things later when he made more room in his suitcases, since Harry wanted to donate the old clothes to some charity or other in the city now that Harry had no use for them.

"Hm," Draco replied gruffly—it was probably his caveman way of saying 'thanks'.

That was another part of Draco that Harry didn't fully understand.

Draco prided himself on expensive skin creams, luxurious clothes, and in general being a snob, but he was also kind of a slob. He left clothes scattered everywhere like some maid was going to pick them up and ate like a pig.

Draco definitely thought of himself as refined, but so many parts of him were far from it. Harry wondered if Draco would ever figure that out himself and drop the snootiness, but that was a long shot.

In short, Draco was an enigma.

"Ready to pick the next case?" he asked Harry in a tone that was a sick mix of gleeful and malicious. Draco turned on the camera and pointed it towards Harry's laptop.

Harry snorted. "You sound eager for more heartbreak."

"I'm eager for _mystery_, Harry. The heartbreak can be constructive. After all, Ruth seemed to have learned something and she's on her way to moving on as we speak. We ended her limbo."

"I just hope this one ends better and we find someone who is more avoidant than lying," grumbled Harry. The subject lines were just as pleading as the last time.

Harry whistled lowly. Their MTV inbox was near full. "Okay, I'm just going to read these rapid-fire. 'I'm in love with a stranger', 'I need to meet this woman', 'Homophobia keeping us apart', 'Not enough funds to meet'—"

"The homophobia one." Draco motioned to it on the screen like a Roman king would motion to a near-dead gladiator he wanted to spare in the coliseum.

"Alright, here we go… 'Hello MTV, I really need your help. My name is Kennedy Rogers and I live in Dayton, Ohio with my father. I work as a math tutor part-time, since my full-time job is taking care of my dad. In 2009 he was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, so the second I graduated from Ohio State University I went back home to assist him.'"

"Wow." It was impossible for Draco to imagine that. He loved Lucius Malfoy dearly, but giving up his life to take care of Lucius? That was really something.

Harry pressed his lips together. "Yeah, she sounds like a really devoted daughter. Okay, here's the part about her online romance: 'A year ago I accepted a friend request from a beautiful girl calling herself Brooke who saw my name on a public support group for lesbians who were out who wanted to reach out to those in the closet. While my father is accepting of the way I feel towards women, Brooke's father is not.' Oh, that's the worst."

It was true that Harry's Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't been ecstatic about their nephew's homosexuality, but it was also true that Harry didn't care, so it all balanced out. Harry couldn't imagine what it would be like if a parental figure who he did care about rejected him for his sexuality.

Draco hummed in agreement.

"'Brooke lives in Mason, Michigan with her father, a paraplegic who needs her assistance like my father needs mine. First we bonded over that, and things only grew from there'," Harry read. "'I've tried to set up meetings with her, but she is too afraid of her father finding out that she's gay for me to get anywhere near her. Please, please help me meet her, she won't even let me talk to her on the phone or cam her in case her father overhears'."

"Oh, come on," Draco sighed. He'd really been hoping for an honest one this time around.

"What? Some people really don't want their parents to know."

"But she could leave the house to take a call," argued Draco. "And honestly, if this 'Brooke' really is looking after her father then he owes her, not the other way around. She's a committed enough daughter to watch after him, so he should be committed enough to accept her for liking women."

Harry agreed with the last bit, but had dated plenty of men who were still in closet. They always seemed so afraid, and Harry knew they had reason to be. "Still. I don't want to doubt Brooke for being disingenuous about homophobia. It hits too close to home for me to doubt it."

"So we're taking the case," Draco said quickly.

"Yeah," Harry nodded, turning around after browsing some of Brooke's Facebook pictures to look at Draco and watch the little red light on his camera go out.

Without saying it but rather making a confused facial expression, Harry tried to ask Draco what was up with the sudden halt in filming.

"In high school did you ever get shit for being gay?" Draco asked suddenly. "I mean, I did, but nobody really liked me so that may have just been the first characteristic of mine they went for, I just… Did you ever get harassed for it?"

"Well, yeah."

"Shit."

"What?" Harry laughed. "They were horrible kids with Republican fathers that brainwashed them when they were growing up, it wasn't so bad. It could have been much worse."

"Fuck, fucking dammit."

"Draco…?"

He huffed and put his camera down on the side of the bed. "I didn't even think about it," Draco muttered.

"Hm? Draco, you said some horrid stuff but you never exactly were guilty of being the pot calling the kettle black—"

"I know! I know _I _didn't make fun of you for being queer, but I made fun of you for other things while _other people_ made fun of you for being queer."

Harry was lost. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about—" Draco cut himself off. "I'm saying—Agh. I didn't think about how I wasn't the only bad thing in your life."

"So you're trying to tell me that you were under the impression that you were the only one allowed to torment me?" Harry sincerely doubted that, but Draco's bewildered face made him almost believe it.

The taller man looked like he'd undergone some spiritual revelation. "I didn't realize."

"You're pretty self-centered, Draco."

"You're pretty annoying, Harry," he snapped back out of habit.

"But once again, you're forgiven."

Draco rolled his eyes before returning to sit on his bed.

Still, he felt he and Harry should have been allies in school! They could have combined their respective snark and influence over separate parts of the student body to try and eradicate homophobia entirely from their little high school.

Instead, they'd been attacking one another while straight people attacked them separately. Draco felt like he'd betrayed The Homosexual Cause for letting it happen.

"I was always surprised that your father was okay with it," Harry admitted to fill the silence that had fallen on the room. "He always seemed so… Unyielding when he came into class to yell at your teachers."

"That's a nice way of putting it," Draco laughed. "He's pretty ruthless when it comes to me. But that's the thing, I guess. My father got that being gay was a part of me, so he went insane with the whole PFLAG thing."

Harry couldn't believe his ears. "I haven't heard the acronym 'PFLAG' in forever. 'Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays', right? God, the church down the street from my old aunt and uncle's house held meetings for PFLAG."

"My father ran the meetings."

"No fucking way."

"Yes fucking way. He's—I don't know if you noticed—rather intent on making sure I have the best of the best."

"No way," Harry said again sarcastically. "Never noticed that."

"Clean your glasses, then," Draco smirked.

"I vividly remember an incident where I put my glasses down in gym class for five minutes and returned to find them broken…"

"That was Pansy!"

"Parkinson," Harry sighed. "I haven't heard that name in forever, either. Are you two still friends?"

Draco grinned. "Of course. She's the sort who never, ever lets you break off a friendship so here I am after all this time. Forever the fag to Pansy's fag-hag."

"That's a touching story."

"I'm a fan of touching stories, if you also hadn't noticed that," Draco pointed out.

"We should probably get back to the case, hm?" Harry got back on track. "Grab the camera and let's webcam Kennedy."

Though it took a bit more coaxing on Harry's part to get Draco sitting in an upright position, they pushed on with their latest possible Catfish.

xxx

Leaving the Dayton National Airport had been much easier than getting out of JFK. There was less traffic and less smog, so Draco's use of the GPS was infinitely better.

He and Harry wound up at Kennedy's house earlier than even planned.

Her driveway was drawn on with sidewalk chalk in flowers and petals that reached upwards towards the garage door, and Harry opened the car door to get a closer look. "Pretty," he said to himself.

"Thank you!"

Harry turned around to see a girl with pigtails and a jean skirt standing at the end of the driveway. She couldn't have been older than ten, and one day she'd look back on photos of herself in that skirt and cringe.

"Hey there, sweetheart," Harry greeted her. From the other side of the car Draco watched reservedly. The girl hadn't said anything annoying yet, but it was only a matter of time with children.

"Are you here to see Kennedy?" she asked. Her hands were covered in pink chalk residue. "My name is Mary May Rogers and this is my uncle's house. Kennedy's my cousin."

Draco made a face. "You shouldn't talk to strangers, Mary. Or tell them your full name."

"Kennedy talked to a stranger on the internet and now she loves her. You know, like the lesbian kind of love," Mary informed them. "So why can't I talk to strangers?"

"We're men. Men often have worse intentions than lesbians," Draco told her curtly. "And you really can't trust anyone but lesbians, so—"

"Mary!" Kennedy shouted from the door. "Come inside, I'll drive you back to your house."

Even Draco and Harry had to acknowledge that Kennedy was exceptionally beautiful. Even with a man's name she was the height of femininity.

A chestnut braid fell like a river down her shoulder; Harry had always admired people who could grow their hair long and still manage to take care of it. He certainly could never do that, and if he said that out loud he was sure Draco would tell him he wasn't even taking care of it properly at the moment.

Kennedy paused when she recognized the men that had been on her computer screen just hours ago in her driveway accompanied by a whole SUV of camera-toting men and women. "Oh."

"Hey, I'm Harry and this is Draco. We're here from with the crew for MTV's Catfish." Harry jarred her from her momentary star-struck paralysis.

"Hey! Hi! Hello!" she ejaculated. "Come in! I baked cookies for Mary but you're more than welcome to share."

Mary crossed her arms and made it clear that she didn't want to share, so Kennedy waved her back inside with an exasperated sigh.

"Sorry about her," laughed Kennedy as she brought them into the house. The tile floors looked clean enough to eat off, even to Draco. He was sure to get a shot of them for posterity. "Here, let's go to the living room—this is my father."

Kennedy motioned to the man on the couch. There was no mistaking it, he was definitely her father. They had almost exactly the same nose and both had blue eyes.

"Hey there." Mr. Rogers slowly extended his hand to shake with the two men, and the effects of his disease became obvious to Draco. "How are you?"

Mr. Rogers sucked loudly on a throat lozenge to keep his mouth occupied and his hand maintained a distinct tremor when greeting Harry and Draco. When he put his arm back down to rest at his side, Draco could see the flash of pain from the joint movement.

"We're great," Draco told him. "Thanks for having us in your lovely home." He was the designated cohost to deal with parents from his genteel upbringing.

Plus, back in the car he'd read over Kennedy's email. He discovered that her father's mobility was affected enough for him to be on disability pay, and had shamefully enough had to actually Google what Parkinson's Disease was in the first place.

"Any time," Mr. Rogers offered. His voice was considerably more free and loose than his body let him be. "I've been trying to get Computer Face over here to meet Brooke for ages."

"_Dad_," Kennedy sighed. How many times did she have to tell him 'Computer Face' was not a witty nickname?

"Consider us your enforcers, then. We're here to get your daughter face-to-face with whoever runs the Brooke profile," Draco assured him.

Harry cut in. "With Brooke herself, hopefully."

All of that hope would exhaust someone like Draco after their last disappointment, but Harry held it somehow.

"Where can we set up to ask you some more questions about Brooke?" Harry asked. The crew had gotten plenty of footage of them standing around with her father, and Harry knew if it were him on that couch he wouldn't appreciate all the cameras in his home.

"My room would be fine," Kennedy shrugged. She bent down to kiss her dad on the cheek before leading them down another hallway.

"So it's really great that your father is supportive," Harry mentioned to fill the dead air time as they filed into Kennedy's room.

"Yeah, he sort of always knew. I used to make my Barbies date each other even though I had an ample amount of Ken dolls."

The piles of teddy bears and butterfly stickers on the wall indicated that she'd lived there as a child. Draco felt horrible for her; he could never sleep in his childhood bed past the age of twenty. Harry wondered if the Barbies were still around.

Smoothing out her sheets, she offered Harry and Draco a couple of spots at the end of her bed while she sat at the head of it. "Ask away." The sooner they got all of the song and dance of the television show over the sooner she could see Brooke.

If it weren't for that, Kennedy strongly believed she would have never, ever ended up on reality television.

Draco turned the camera on Harry and the crew on the other side of the room did the same. "So you met online," Harry started. "But what was different about her? What about talking to her made you want to be in a relationship with her?"

"She was different," Kennedy told him. "Not different like quirky, but different like completely unique. We talked about the craziest stuff—stuff I could never talk about with anyone else without them thinking I was totally insane. Our first conversation was about these YouTube videos of adults playing really intense Yu-Gi-Oh card games and screaming when they lost, it was completely hilarious. The humor was just so specific, you know? We'd both seen the show as kids and to watch these grown adults play it like we had then? It was so funny."

"So you like her humor," Harry said with a smile. That was essential to all of his relationships.

Kennedy nodded. "It's almost exactly like mine. We're always sending each other funny videos. Not like 'cat making weird noises' funny, but 'two punk boys getting their lips rings caught while making out' funny."

The love that formed over watching ridiculous videos together was often the strongest.

"And, of course, I love her," Kennedy added. It seemed like such an obvious fact that she'd forgotten to say it out loud. "More than anything."

"Want to show us some of your online interactions?" Draco wanted to verify this girl was who she said she was before he got his hopes up, but it looked as if it was too late for Harry.

He was all sunshine and smiles, and while Draco was growing fond of the way Harry's nose crinkled up when he was excited to bring 'soulmates' together, he worried Harry was going to be betrayed again by some dishonest person behind a computer screen.

Kennedy woke up her laptop and opened to Brooke's Facebook page. "Here she is," she showed proudly, the chat log from their conversation the night before still open.

"What…?" Draco pointed at the square where a profile picture should have been and instead there was what looked like a flying tropical banana tree monster.

"It's her favorite Pokémon!" Kennedy replied as if that were obvious. "There was this month that everyone on Facebook changed their profile picture to a Pokémon and that's Tropius."

"What. Why." Draco phrased it more as a pair of statements than questions.

Kennedy, who was clearly not connecting the dots as Draco was, looked to the two men inquistively. "What is it?"

"Well," Draco broke the news to her gently. "It seems Brooke's profile doesn't have any actual pictures of her. Do you see how that could be problematic?"

"She has a picture of her feet at the edge of her bed somewhere in here…"

"What about her face?" Harry guided, using the mouse to view all of Brooke's past profile pictures.

Just as Draco expected, they were various cartoon characters, drawings, and one was just the poster for the Silence of The Lambs movie replaced with Nicolas Cage's face. Okay, that one was kind of funny.

Still! Amongst the many rules Draco both made up and adhered to, not having a single identifying picture of the person one was dating hadn't even become a rule until that moment because Draco hadn't thought it possible. "You don't know what she looks like?"

"I mean, she's told me the basics. She's got blonde hair, blue eyes, she's a size zero…" Kennedy recounted dreamily.

With that it seemed Draco and Harry had their work cut out for them.

xxx

Harry would have been dragging Brooke's profile pictures into Google image search if they were pictures of actual humans, but alas. The only solid piece of evidence for Brooke's identity was her phone number.

"I don't want to hit enter," Harry lamented.

He and Draco were just about to search who the phone was registered to, and Harry was afraid his hopes for Kennedy and Brooke's romance would be squashed like their last case.

"Just do it. 'Brooke' is lying." Draco lay on his stomach, camera pointed at the screen. The hotel room they'd been given this time around in Ohio was nice but had considerably less room. No desk, no lounge chairs. The room was bare except for two beds, a dresser, and an old television.

Draco complained loudly to Kingsley over the phone about it but it as usual with Draco's bitching fell on deaf ears. Kingsley had said something along the lines of "Life must be so hard for you, Malfoy," and hung up.

Harry hit enter on the cellphone number search since the show had to go on, but Harry was unconsciously holding his breath anyway.

"Dammit."

"No name registered to the phone," Draco read out loud. He turned the camera back on Harry's disappointed face. "You look like a kicked puppy."

"I just want Kennedy to be happy!"

"So do I, but—"

"I want her to not only be happy and learn from this experience," Harry countered before Draco even rehashed his point about even the failed romances being valuable experiences. "But I want her to come out of it in love with a real, genuine girl."

"Sap," Draco accused blamelessly.

Harry gave him a look. "It happens, you know. People can fall in love online and it can all work out."

"I'm not saying it doesn't happen."

"I want it to happen," Harry clarified. "I want it to happen for all of these people, every single one in that inbox the network set up."

That was the very definition of sap, according to Draco. "I never took you to be one of those guys who's obsessed with love. True Love and all that."

"I'm not obsessed! Everyone wants to find someone they can share their life with, it's not that strange."

"I'm not saying it's strange," Draco replied calmly. Even Draco with all of his cold ways and sarcastic defense mechanisms longed for someone to curl up next to at night, someone who really understood him. "It's just… interesting that you think that."

Whatever Draco was trying to imply with that sailed right over Harry's head. "Yeah, yeah. I think there's someone out there for everyone and that it would be nice if everyone found their respective someone. There'd be less war; everyone would be getting laid."

"Harry James Potter, humanitarian extraordinaire," Draco snorted.

"I really am," Harry deadpanned, mimicking how Draco pretended not to pick up on tone. "That's why I do this job, for the people. Even you, Draco Malfoy, have a soulmate out there. If I could bring you to that poor bastard, I would."

Draco couldn't help but laugh. Harry was such a riot, the way he placed his hand over his heart dramatically when he was pretending to be serious and the way his big, green eyes somehow got bigger behind his glasses. "'Poor bastard' is a really strange way of saying 'luckiest man alive', but I suppose I'll take your kindness even with your grievous pronunciation errors."

"You're a saint, Draco."

Draco figured he must have been getting better at his job, since he hadn't realized the camera was still on for that entire conversation. A light flush came to his face. "Anyway, Peacekeeper Potter, let's try something else with that number of 'Brooke's."

"Try what?" Harry tilted his head to the side and Draco had to force down more color from entering his cheeks. Harry really needed to stop looking so adorably innocent.

Not the sort of innocent that most people used the word to mean—after all Draco had seen Harry attempting to get in a man's pants just a day ago—but the sort of innocent that was untainted by sadness. Harry had experienced sorrow and hardship at one point or another, but it hadn't seemed to have stuck to him.

Harry had been hurt but he forgave—he even forgave Draco. Harry was a sarcastic little fuck, but never out of pessimism or melancholy.

By Draco's definition, Harry was jaded some aspects, probably filthy in bed, but still innocent. Harry still opened himself up to people anyway.

"Draco?"

Oh, shit. "Call the number."

"I don't know if you remember how well that went last time—"

"Just call it," Draco pushed on. "If this 'Brooke' is telling the truth like you want her to be then she needs money to support her father, and she'd use her phone for business. Unidentified numbers calling her in the afternoon? It looks like business, not like her girlfriend checking up on her."

"You're evil," Harry grinned.

That was so typically Harry, smiling at the idea of evil and dialing the phone number without hesitation.

Harry put it on speakerphone and crossed his fingers. "Pick up, pick up…"

"Don't mutter to yourself, you'll sound insane if she does pick up."

The phone rang.

"What if she doesn't pick up?" Harry asked. "Then what? We've got nothing else."

"Shh!" Draco hushed him.

The phone rang again.

"But we have nothing else!"

"We have the Facebook profile, calm down. We might hear back from some of her Facebook friends since we sent them questions," Draco hissed.

"Oh." Harry had really let his anxiety get the best of him in the moment.

"Um… Hello?"

Harry let out a sigh of relief. It was a woman's voice on the other end of the phone.

To the woman on the phone, however, that sounded like the creepy heavy breathing that serial killers used on the phone before announcing they were inside of their victim's house. "Who is this?" she demanded.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly, lifting the smartphone up to speak into its receiver. "This is Harry Potter. Is Brooke speaking?"

"Yes, what is it?" Brooke's reply was short, and in the background the whir of some kind of machine could be heard. A laundry machine? A dishwasher?

"I'm from MTV's upcoming show, Catfish, but that's not really important. What is important is that I've been talking to a bright young lady named Kennedy, and she would really like to meet with you. I know it hasn't been possible in the past—"

"Kennedy sent you to_ investigate _me?" she snapped.

Draco held the camera steady, smiling at the sight of Harry getting the third degree.

"Well, no, she really just—"

"Who even are you? Are you a friend of hers?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "We are."

"_We_? Who else is there?"

Harry looked to Draco for help but the blonde just kept on filming. Harry flipped him and the camera off. "My partner and I, Draco, we bring people together who have online romances—"

"I don't care what you and your boyfriend do! Look, I have to go, my father's physical therapy is almost done and I have to pick him up," she dismissed them. Draco snorted at the 'boyfriend' comment, since that would only happen in Harry's dreams.

The call wasn't a complete failure though, Draco and Harry at least got to see she was serious about having a father who needed help—or she was just one hell of a vigilant liar. "Listen, we've been down here talking to Kennedy and she wants to meet you," Harry cut to the chase. "She loves you, and money isn't an issue. We can provide for travel."

"Meet me? Oh, now she's really lost it. I—I can't! I have to go—"

"Please tell me you'll think about it. Please, consider how much this relationship means to her and to you. I know you've found someone who's at least a friend in Kennedy, and we just want to make sure you can let that grow into more by meeting." Harry's legs felt like they had to run after Brooke, his hands clutching the phone tightly. "And you can text me back if you can't call. Kennedy wants to see you and after all this time with her, I'd think you'd want to see her too."

"I do!" Brooke argued. "Of course I do, I just—my father. It's all my father. Now's not a good time because I'm living with him."

Draco seriously doubted it was 'all her father'. Brooke was a grown woman; she wasn't beholden to her parents anymore. "It's never going to be a 'good time'," Draco finally spoke into the phone. "If you wait for a 'good time' then you'll wait for the rest of your life. Kennedy wants to meet _now_."

From Brooke's end of the line there was silence for a moment. Harry let Draco's words hang in the air, waiting for her response.

"I'll… I'll think about it."

"Please get back to us soon," Harry pressed on, the spark of hope in the pit of his stomach blazing brighter. "Text me whenever you can."

"Fine. I have to go now."

The phone clicked off.

Harry put the phone back on the bed with his shoulders feeling significantly lighter. "There we go."

"All we know is her voice, Harry," Draco reminded him.

"Shut up and let me enjoy what is definitely going to be my victory."

"_Your _victory?"

"Yes, mine," nodded Harry. "You're the skeptic and I'm the believer, and this time believing is going to win out."

xxx

"_You have to chase your heart, baby,"_ Mr. Rogers had said to his little girl (well, she was a grown woman with all kinds of responsibilities and hardships but he still saw her as a little girl sometimes) when he was left with the live-in nurse from the network.

No matter what was going on in Brooke's side of the relationship regarding lies or evading meetings, Kennedy's excuse for not seeing Brooke was a legitimate one. Harry and Draco saw her father's conditions in person, and had called Kingsley to make sure Mr. Rogers had someone to take care of him while Kennedy was off for a few days in search of answers about who she was currently in a relationship with.

It was a long-overdue vacation for Kennedy in Draco's humble opinion, and in a significantly less-humble opinion he held that not knowing the person one was in a relationship with was just sad.

The world spun on regardless of Draco's opinion as usual.

Harry had received the text from Brooke just an hour after their heated phone call that yes, she would meet but no, it would have to be away from her house.

"_We're going in even more blind than before,"_ Draco had grimaced, handheld focused on the text message. "_At least with Chris we knew he was lying about something. This time around we have no dirt, no ammunition on what could be a Catfish. I can't believe Kennedy is doing this without demanding a picture."_

"_Maybe Kennedy doesn't care what Brooke looks like,"_ Harry had offered in reply. _"We have Brooke's voice and a café to meet at, so at least we know this is a real woman in Michigan who we're speaking to."_

That wasn't enough for Draco.

All of the memories of arguing with Harry in the hotel room about if someone could truly fall in love without seeing someone's face and Kennedy hugging her father goodbye swirled around in Draco's head on the plane ride over.

Harry had his headphones on and was engrossed in some awful-looking movie with animated owls when Draco got the nerve to challenge just what the hell Kennedy was thinking. She'd requested the window seat, so for politeness' sake he'd sat in between her and Harry.

"You love her but you don't know what she looks like?" Draco finally blurted out.

Kennedy turned her head from the window like she'd been expecting Draco to ask that. "Yes."

That was just insane. "You know the whole 'blonde hair, blue eyes, size zero' thing is probably a lie, right?"

"I believe her," Kennedy said firmly.

"Believe her or just want to believe her?"

"I told her," Kennedy articulated as if she'd told herself this a thousand times before. "That she could be honest with me and I wouldn't judge her. I don't see a reason as to why she would lie about her appearance when I don't care."

"You 'don't care'? That's completely bizarre. What if she has no teeth, or a massive case of acne?" Draco intruded. He couldn't help himself, the idea of putting physical attraction low on the list of relationship requirements was just too foreign to him.

"Her looks just aren't that important to me! What would be important is if she lied."

Draco realized he'd have to cushion this poor girl's fall. Of course Brooke was lying. "If," he offered. "Totally hypothetically, you find out she was lying about her appearance, what would that mean to you? What would you do?"

"I don't think that's going to happen," she replied coldly.

"But if it does?"

"It won't." With that, she rolled onto her side and tried to make the best of the hour-long flight as a nap instead of an interview.

xxx

Kennedy maintained her determination on the moonlit drive to the hotel, texting Brooke on her way there.

Once again Harry was smiling that stupid, huge, pretty smile, trying to get a look over her shoulder. _"What are you saying? Is that an 'I love you'? I can't wait, I can't wait for you two to meet,"_ he had narrated to the camera.

Draco, meanwhile, had grit his teeth and filmed.

When he woke up the next morning in a cold sweat that haunted him for seemingly no reason, he found that his jaw had actually begun to ache from all of his teeth grinding.

"Come on!" Harry tossed at Draco from across the room to wake him up. "Today's the day."

_The day that Kennedy figures out she's been duped, yes_, Draco thought bitterly to himself and got dressed.

Consumed with that thought while Harry played the role of Kennedy's personal cheerleader on the way over to the café Brooke had requested a meeting at, Draco hadn't even noticed how fast that car ride was.

"Draco," Harry repeated for the third time. "Come on, turn on the camera and let's go. The crew's already setting up inside."

Maybe Draco was getting sick. His forehead was burning hot and his thoughts were blurring even as he sat down in the café.

They picked the table right in the front to be sure that Brooke knew who they were and Draco ignored whatever flu or bug he'd picked up on their jet-setting travels, blaming his vulnerability to any illness on the stress he was under watching people make terrible romantic decisions. Still, the show must go on, right? "Rolling." When Draco spoke the back of his mouth tickled.

Kennedy settled into her Victorian-style chair. If Draco's wits had been one-hundred percent with him he would have noted the way her braid was done differently. Instead of casually falling down her shoulder, the braid sloped neatly down her back in a fish tail.

"You look good," Harry assured Kennedy in Draco's stead. He'd noticed Draco wasn't as animated as usual that morning and was planning on keeping a close eye on him until they could talk about getting him some rest alone.

Kennedy thanked Harry but her eyes darted from camera lens to camera lens, clearly too absorbed in her own thought to pay any attention to the co-hosts.

Harry, on the other hand, paid attention to the job he had to do. He had to entertain. "Did you talk at all to Brooke last night after we got to the hotel?" Harry asked Kennedy.

"Mhm."

"Did she say anything about the meeting?"

"Nope."

"Then what did you talk about?" he tried again.

Kennedy's eyes impatiently fixed on the closed door to the café. "The usual."

By the time Harry finished a long hiss of air and reminded himself to be patient with guests on the show like Kingsley had said, someone else had entered the café.

"Oh my god," Kennedy breathed.

Her eyes locked with the other woman's in complete understanding.

She was, as Draco had predicted, not a size zero or a blonde. She was a meager brunette, plump around her face and her thighs. She'd dressed nicely in anticipation of her meeting with Kennedy but even her black dress couldn't hide that she was somewhere around a size fourteen.

Trying to think on the bright side, Harry was almost about to say 'well at least she isn't the Pokémon in her profile picture!' when 'Brooke' spoke first.

"Hi," she spoke up. "Hi, Kennedy."

Kennedy stood. "Brooke?" she asked, needing to know if it was real.

"That's me," she responded meekly.

"But you…?"

"Lied," Draco finished. He wasn't happy about being right, but he had to keep his and Harry's presence strong in front of the cameras. They were the voice of the audience, or at least supposed to be the voice of the audience, and Draco imagined the viewers at home would be thinking the same thing.

Brooke's defensive demeanor from when they spoke on the phone had softened. "I… I did."

"Why?" replied the victim of the Catfish. Next to her, Harry sat slack-jawed for another mute moment before standing beside Kennedy and putting a protective hand on her shoulder.

"I don't know," Brooke shrugged.

Draco was the last one of the group to stand, camera in his hand. "Yes, you do. Come on, you know."

Kennedy stayed eerily silent when waiting for Brooke's response. "Um," Brooke tried. "It wasn't because I thought Kennedy wouldn't accept it or get it or whatever. I swear. Kennedy, it wasn't you that made me lie."

"Then what was?" Harry asked gently. "And was that all you lied about?"

"Yes! Of course! How could I have lied about anything else?" Brooke's defense flared for a moment before she receded back into herself. "I didn't lie about anything else."

"I swear to god, I swear if you're lying right now—" Kennedy started, finger pointed at Brooke accusingly.

Brooke tried her best not to shrink away from Kennedy's stare. "I'm not lying. I promise you." She stood her ground and told the truth that time around. Kennedy deserved that much. "This time I'm really not."

A heavy shudder passed through Kennedy, and for a moment Harry felt like he was the only thing holding her upright. "I don't care what you look like, B. I love you," Kennedy told her girlfriend weakly. "I just have to know why you lied."

"You are so kind, do you know how kind you are?" Brooke responded, her own eyes getting glossy. "I want to be thin, you have no idea how I want to lose this weight and how I hate my stupid hair. I want to be thin for me, and maybe that's why I lied."

"You're beautiful," Kennedy reinforced.

"You don't have to lie," Brooke shook her head. "Please don't lie. I don't look like all the pretty girls do, and maybe you can somehow accept that but I can't. I want to lose this weight, but I never have the time or the energy to do it."

Kennedy moved away from Draco and Harry's protection to wrap her arms around the other woman. "If you want to change for you, then I'll help you."

"No, no, you've helped me so much already." Brooke's voice was muffled since her face rested on Kennedy's shoulder. Maybe that was an advantage to being shorter than Kennedy, being able to be held. "I can't keep asking things of you. My conscience won't let me ask that much of you."

"I'll help you change," Kennedy repeated anyway. "I'll help you be whatever you want to be. If you want to lose weight I'll be your trainer, if you want to stay the way you are then I'll be just as happy."

"Stop being so nice, fuck, I haven't even come out to my father! You're too _nice_," Brooke emphasized as if she didn't deserve the kindness.

The scene unfolded before Draco and Harry as they watched in awe.

"You don't have to come out to your father, you can be in the closet your whole life and I'll put on a suit and you can pretend you're with a man—"

"You are too _nice_! You're too nice to me and you're _out of your mind_!"

"Have you forgotten?" Kennedy asked quietly. "Have you seriously forgotten everything you've done for me? You've been there, B. You've been there when I needed you so I'm just returning the favor. I'm gonna support you. Why do you think I wanted to meet you? So I could reject you? Come here, please don't cry, come here…"

Their embrace grew tighter and their words hushed.

After a couple beats, Draco figured he would be the one to intrude on behalf of the show. "You want some alone time?" he asked with a guarded smile. Kennedy and Brooke's journey had only just begun, and real-world break-ups and fights happened all the time. He wanted to hope they'd be able to somehow push past their glaring errors—Brooke's self-confidence, their care of their fathers and the distance—but he didn't dare show it. "We can interview you later tonight. You can have the afternoon to yourselves."

As Harry and Draco walked back to the car with their pack of cameras, one camerawoman got a shot of Kennedy and Brooke's first kiss.

xxx

"I'm not sure which one of us won this one," Harry admitted. "But—"

"If you say something cheesy like 'Brooke and Kennedy won', Harry, I will not hesitate to lock you out of the hotel room for the night," Draco cut in with a sniffle. His wooziness from back at the café had gotten worse, and he needed to lie down just to keep from getting dizzy.

Harry cleared his throat. He and Draco really seemed to be getting to know each other well if he could predict what Harry was going to say. "Well."

Draco laughed. "Anyway, I think I won. Brooke was lying and Catfishing."

"But Kennedy could accept it in the end! You heard them in the interview, they were willing to work through this together. At least Brooke only lied about her appearance. Chris lied about his job, his whereabouts, his true feelings," Harry listed.

"Brooke had less lies, I'll give you that, but that doesn't make her lying null and void."

"It's easier to get over less lies, though," Harry went on. "I think they can make it."

"You're nuts."

"You're cynical."

"Rightfully so," Draco nodded. "I've had my fair share of shit relationships and I know how they end up after someone breaks the trust. Then it's just question after question about everything that happens."

From Harry's perch on his hotel bed, felt a tiny jolt of shock that some man in Draco's past relationships had fucked him over. He knew he shouldn't be surprised because he'd run into his fair share of bad men in dating, but it just shocked him that it happened to Draco, too.

Any idiot could see Draco was a catch in terms of looks, and Harry was beginning to see how someone could even grow fond of his personality after some serious time together.

Harry shrugged, not knowing how to respond. "I hope things are different for Kennedy, then."

"So do I," Draco reinforced. "But I doubt that they will be different."

"Time will tell then, I guess."

A moment of silence passed between them before Draco's lungs decided to act up again. He coughed the crook of his arm with a particularly disgusting wet hack. "Unghk."

Harry frowned. "Hey, should I be calling a doctor?"

"No," Draco sniffled, voice full of self-pity. "I'd rather suffer and wait it out than find some quack doctor in Michigan. My family's physician is the only one I trust."

"Oh my god. Are you seriously telling me the Malfoys have a family doctor like you're some group of royals?"

"She knows all of my medical history and knows how to keep things discreet!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "If you don't see a doctor here then you're going to get me sick, and you know we can get back on a plane to New Hope with you like this," he sighed.

"Don't care," Draco whined. "I won't see some hack."

"You are so pretentious, Draco. You need to at least take some kind of over-the-counter medication to keep you from turning this hotel room into an incubus of disease."

"Then why don't you get it?" he whined again, tipping his head back against his pillows.

"Because I'm not your servant!"

"Do you want to get sick?"

He huffed. "No, Draco."

"Then get me something. Aspirin, Mucinex, coughdrops, I don't care."

"No—"

"Nyquil! That's what I need," Draco found the right word. "Something to make me sleep through it. It keeps me to the bed so you won't have me breathing on your things and I won't be bored and snot-nosed all day."

Harry couldn't believe Draco was still speaking. "I'm not making a drug-store run for you."

"Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Are so."

"Are not."

Draco let out a terrible, messy sneeze.

"Draco! That's absolutely disgusting!"

Draco sneezed again, this time scrambling to do it on Harry's phone.

"How could someone so snooty be so goddamn gross—"

Another sneeze tore out of Draco, but this one was less forced and more of his genuine illness.

Harry threw his hands up in defeat, arriving back at the hotel with a plastic bag full of Aspirin, Mucinex, Nyquil, coughdrops, tissues, and disinfectant spray just twenty minutes later.


	4. Chapter 4: Day Off

**AN: **As much as I love sharing the stories of others (and as much as Harry and Draco love sharing the stories of others) it's about time to give these two a little break in filming their series. This is a bit of a filler. I've been watching Black Butler lately, and I love Sebastian/Ciel so Draco's dream is inspired by them.

**Chapter 4: Day Off**

Draco was just where he belonged.

"Fetch me more fast food and room service," he demanded of the man at the foot of his throne. Draco's feet themselves were clad in emerald green slippers of the finest of silk to match the extravagant robes he was wearing.

The raven-haired servant boy below Draco's decked-out throne and attire acquiesced without hesitation. "Of course, your highness."

Draco smiled smugly. All was as it was meant to be. He had his kingdom far, far below him in a location that seemed to defy Draco's original idea of where the floor was because of the serving boy.

Looking back down, Draco noted that his inferior was actually floating. How smart of him, somehow surpassing gravity in order to better serve Draco. If Draco were paying this man he would have certainly given him a raise for that display of loyalty and dedication.

Even though he hadn't left his place at the foot of Draco's golden throne, Draco knew he was somehow getting food also. The logic was blurry, but Draco didn't question it because at the time it all benefitted Draco.

"It's because he knows that if he gets me food and actually goes away, I'll have nobody for decent conversation," Draco concluded out loud. The floating servant seemed not to hear him, and upon a squint of Draco's eyes to get a closer look at him, it was revealed that he was playing with some camera lenses that floated similarly to him, but in front of him.

A sinking feeling entered Draco's chest.

No, no, he could feel his kingdom slip away—he couldn't think of the show when he was having such a fantastic dream!

Draco tried his hardest to change the camera lenses to something else in his dream, tried to use his mind to actually work for him and not against him, but it failed. The harder he fought the creeping in of reality, the swifter it came.

"No," Harry heard Draco grumble in his sleep. "No, no cameras."

Harry snorted, the first noise he'd made in hours. Even though Draco was a heavy sleeper, he'd stayed quiet in his hotel room comings and goings in order to assure Draco was too busy being knocked out to pester him for more blankets or gripe about how he was 'surely dying' and then refusing to see a 'common physician' when Harry suggested they just give up the farce and get a professional's help.

"Bring me back to my castle," Draco whined, sounding slightly more cognizant than he had a few moments ago.

Harry didn't even look up from his laptop. "Only in your dreams, Draco. Literally in your dreams." Harry had the day off because of Draco's sickness as well, since the show couldn't exist with one host according to Kingsley.

On his day off in the middle of Mason, Michigan (a singularly boring town, as Harry had learned when he snuck out to explore a little) Harry decided it was best to stay in and surf the internet rather than the frigid waves of the local lakes—which were all inexplicably brown.

He had checked in with Luna, Neville, Dean, and wished Ginny a happy birthday on her Facebook timeline before Hermione finally logged on and he could unload some of his wild tales of Draco Malfoy-isms onto her.

Hermione mostly pitied Harry for having to be around such an insufferable man—even after Harry explained Draco had matured since high school—but laughed occasionally at the bizarre things that happened while Harry and Draco were filming.

It would also be a lie to say that Hermione wasn't smirking to herself about the fact that Draco was at Harry's mercy from being sick, forced to rely on someone he'd taken so much pleasure in torturing back in school. While Harry was relatively forgiving, Hermione held grudges.

Hermione suggested replacing Draco's treasured shampoo and conditioner with much less hygienic substances, and even had a mischievous idea or two about what to do when Draco was asleep that involved a glass of water, a can of whipped cream, three strawberries, and a small dog. Hermione did not easily forget when someone slighted her, even when it was years ago.

Harry decided in the middle of the chat that he would make Draco apologize to Hermione later for what he'd done to her specifically in school.

Not only would that ease the tension between Harry's new coworker and Harry's best female friend, but it would make Harry feel less guilty when he laughed at one of Draco's jokes or caught himself quietly admiring Draco's more physical features.

Harry would feel a lot better about acknowledging the fact that Draco was and always had been hot when Draco acknowledged what a complete dick he'd been and asked for both Ron and Hermione's forgiveness.

Harry wouldn't make Draco apologize when he was sick, though. If he did then that opened up the door to Draco shrugging off the apology as something said in an ill stupor.

More than anything, Harry wanted Draco to have his wits about him when he informed Harry's closest friends that he had amended his ways. Well, sort of amended his ways. Draco was still an asshole, but it was over things like hat choices and honesty rather than over social class and physical features as he had in school.

"What time is it?" Draco asked, finally having gone through an intense emotional journey to accept the fact that his Perfect Dream wasn't coming back to him and it was time to wake the hell up.

"It's four in the afternoon," Harry told Draco. "You really needed the sleep and I needed the break from being ordered around."

Draco chuckled to himself and anticipated a cough, but one never came. "I have specific needs, Harry. You can't blame me for going after them."

"I can blame you for whatever I want. You made me take three separate trips to the pharmacy! You weren't satisfied with regular tissues, no, you _had_ to have the ones with the lotion—"

"They're different!" Draco defended. "They are a markedly different tissue experience."

Harry rolled his eyes while typing a 'goodbye' to Hermione. Conversations with Draco needed his full attention. "Only you would use the phrase 'tissue experience'," Harry said after he finished typing.

Draco nodded. "You're right. I'm much more sophisticated than anyone else on this planet."

"Before you passed out you ate about five orders of cheese fries."

"Your point…?" Draco asked, either not seeing the odd juxtaposition of behaviors or not caring.

"You're disgusting," Harry decided. "And I pity the staff that has to disinfect this room when we leave."

"Hey! At least I didn't get you sick!"

"The coughing on me really helped that, I imagine," Harry laughed. He closed his laptop and put it to the side and hugged his knees to his chest. It was amusing to watch the faces Draco made when he talked; that was honestly half of the spectacle.

So, Harry kept his eyes on Draco and Draco didn't disappoint. He twisted his features in thought and scrunched his nose up. "Hm. It really is a wonder I didn't get you sick."

"Don't jinx it."

"I'll jinx whomever I please whenever I please," Draco argued petulantly before a cough finally sputtered its way out of his throat.

Harry laughed. "Don't exert yourself, it clearly upsets the germs."

"I'll upset whomever's germs I please whenever I—" Draco was cut off by his own cough.

Shaking his head, Harry reached for the night stand in between them to get some more cough drops out of the bag. "Here," he sighed, plopping two into Draco's opened hand and making sure their fingers didn't touch. If Harry got sick just as Draco was getting better, Kingsley would probably have a conniption.

"Thanks," Draco mumbled, remembering his courtesies before popping the lozenges into his mouth.

"You're welcome."

"Want to watch TV?"

"Sure."

The next hour passed easily. The episode of whatever crime drama was on the hotel's main channel was interesting enough to keep Draco and Harry quiet, but nowhere near entertaining enough to put them on the edge of their seats with each twist and turn in the story.

The next day, on the other hand, would be their toughest case yet.

In that day of rest, however, they were allowed a marathon of crime stories in companionable silence. They were able to sit back, relax, and exist together peacefully. If anyone from their home town were able to see them they would have declared it a miracle or at least a divine occurrence.

Privately, Draco called it 'sort of wonderful', because for the first time it seemed as if in spite of their clashing personalities, Harry and he could actually get along.


End file.
